


X Marks The Spot

by ShadowBiscuit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Accidental Drug Use, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blowjobs, Bottom Sam, Criminal Dean, Dark Sammy for a bit, Denial, Drug Smuggling, Falling In Love, First Date, First Kiss, First Time, Flogging, Forced crime, Half-blind Dean, Happy Ending, Humor, Inappropriate touching, Initial non-con, Jealousy, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kidnapping, M/M, Making Love, Mentions of Child Trafficking, Mile High Club, Near-Death Experience, Not Related, Pain Kink, Pervert Dean, Possessive bastard, Scared Sam, Secrets, Slow Burn, Survivalist Sam, Teasing, Top Dean, Trauma, Unhealthy Obsession, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Violence, Virgin Sam, Weapon Smuggling, eventually consensual, handjobs, injuries, poppers, slight S&M at one point, smugglers, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:33:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 157,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4917955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowBiscuit/pseuds/ShadowBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester has been preparing for the Apocalypse that John believed was inevitable for a long time. Did he ever get a say in it? Not really. Did he sometimes wonder if his father was delusional, suffering from a sort of delirium which he kept feeding to Sam, no matter his own beliefs? Definitely.<br/>Evidently, Sam wanted a normal life. He was only fourteen, and no teenager should be locked 24/7 in their house while trained to survive in scenarios that had a very low probability of ever occurring. But that didn't seem to bother his dad, who with his paranoid mentality, militarized Sam's life, giving him little to no chance at ever experiencing what "normal" was supposed to feel like.<br/>Then one night, his already strange life takes a turn for the worse when he gets kidnapped, plunged into the world of vile criminals, and if Sam thought he had it bad before...<br/>Well, he was in for a gruesome surprise.</p><p>In which Sam is 14, Dean is 18, smugglers are apparently giant dicks, and they don't get along very well.  At first, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello, Cruel World

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prologue. The real fun starts in the next chapter. <3

 

Going out with friends on weekends to watch a movie, to hang out in the park and play soccer. Singing happy birthday and then running around the garden while throwing cake at each other. Feeling the nervous pull in his stomach while talking to a crush, friends teasing him while a group of girls giggle at his blush. Leading a normal, overall uneventful life, filled with the everyday struggles of a teenage boy.

Sam had given up on a life like that years ago.

Ever since his mother died and his dad snapped, life for Sam Winchester meant constant training for what John believed to be inevitable. “Doomsday preppers”, they called them. Sam liked the word “survivalist” more. It sounded less like they were crazy, foaming from the mouth lunatics. Which they obviously weren’t. At least not Sam.

Mary, his mother, died when he was just a baby, so he had no memories of the better days, of a normal family life. He knew that they must have had one, long ago, but anything even remotely normal flew right out the window the day their house burned to the ground, along with any hopes of Sam leading an ordinary, boring life. John was convinced that the world was filled to the brim with evil, couldn’t go a day without reminding Sam how he needed to watch out because whoever he’d meet would undoubtedly have a hidden agenda. Every living thing had bad intentions, according to his dad, just itching to wrap their putrid hands around their throats and squeeze, to rob them of money and life, to cheat and betray and murder. Sam grew up listening to his dad’s ramblings, brought up in rather interesting living conditions, and when he finally reached the age when he could’ve gotten the chance to discover the big bad world John was always talking about, the man decided to homeschool him instead.

They moved from one motel to the other for years, his dad always locking him in the room whenever he went out for longer periods of times, and it wasn’t once when he came back shitfaced in the dead of the night, sometimes even collapsing as soon as he stepped into the room. Sam quickly learned how to behave like an adult, his childhood ending as soon as he could walk and talk, John not wasting any time and teaching him how to defend himself as soon as possible. And for a while, that was fine. Sam was okay and satisfied with his life; that is, until he found out just how wrong it truly was. Not knowing what else to do while John was out but to watch the crappy TV shows on the motel televisions, he slowly realized how many things were missing from his life, and when he asked his dad why that was, the man gave him a whole speech about life and death, about the strong and the weak, and how his son was not going to end up as prey like the rest of “those blind sheep”. And no matter how many times he tried to convince his dad to at least let him go to school or go for a short walk around the motel, John always got angry, pointing fingers and accusing Sam of weakness. Curiosity killed the cat, he said, but no amount of satisfaction was going to bring him back if Sam was to venture out into the cruel world.

It was scary, all those threatening warnings truly managing to frighten Sam, but at the same time, it only just made him that more curious about what was going on out there. What could be that bad? He sometimes wondered if John wasn’t just delusional, losing Sam’s mom driving him into dementia, and as the years went by, he was more and more convinced that that was the case.

He had no idea what John did to earn money, but one day the moving around stopped, and they settled down in a rather large house. That became their sort of safe zone, and it wasn’t long before people began staring and talking, the rumors of the “new prepper family” reaching Sam’s ears when he turned twelve and John finally let him out of the house. He could only go grocery shopping with his dad, the man refusing to let him out of his sight even for a moment, but that was more than enough for Sam to overhear the hushed conversations and notice the strange and pitying stares from the corner of his eye. When they arrived home that day, he was quick to look up just what those words were supposed to mean and, honestly, he wasn’t really surprised by their meaning. John had turned their life into a constant preparation for some sort of apocalypse, after all, even turning the house he bought for them into some highly militarized shelter.

What used to be a cozy, two-storey house in a relatively quiet suburban area of Lebanon, Kansas, had become a death machine to whoever dared to enter uninvited. In a place such as this, and with all the rumors going on about them, Sam honestly doubted that there was anyone brave and stupid enough to do that, but he had to remember, his dad wasn’t only worried about robbers. He was completely paranoid about everything—about the cars passing in front of the house, the dogs that got too close, and even the temperature in the house. Which was exactly why they had two panic rooms, one in the basement and another in the attic, along with secret pantries that were filled with so much food and other stuff it could have lasted them at least a year. And then there were the hidden weapons, guns stashed away in couch cushions and stuck to the bottom of kitchen drawers.

Sam knew how to fire a gun by the age of ten, learned which pressure points in the human body were deadly before learning how much one plus one was, and by the time he was fourteen, he could have killed someone in a matter of seconds. Well, figuratively speaking, he could have. He never actually got to try, and he was thankful for that. John did make him throw a few punches and kicks at the punching bag they had in the basement, even sparred with him at least once a day to keep Sam in shape, but he never asked him to catch a deer and strangle it or something. Sam was glad that his dad wasn’t as delirious as to ask him to murder someone because they were “surely filled with evil and just waiting for the right moment to pounce” as he was pretty sure he couldn’t have done it. He wasn’t a murderer, no matter how good he was at wielding a knife and shooting a gun, how he could more or less stand his ground in a fight against John. He wasn’t a big fan of blood either, or pain, nearly passing out several times when he was learning how to stitch up his own wounds.

John had taught him how to survive, how to attack and defend, but so far, Sam never felt the need to use any of his lethal talents. His days consisted of both mental and physical trainings, of discipline and the ability to follow orders, to know the difference between bravery and stupidity.

And Sam had to wonder if, down the years, his father hadn’t forgotten his own lessons; especially the ones about pride and naivety.

People like them have become a popular subject on reality TV shows, Sam even watching a few episodes of one, feeling a tiny bit relieved that they weren’t the only ones like that. And so he wasn’t too surprised when one day there was a knock on their door from a journalist who gave him and his dad an eager smile and asked for an interview. John immediately refused, of course, the years long paranoia and carefulness kicking in, but after the man offered them a considerable amount of money for their cooperation, his father agreed. Not right away—he asked for a few days to think it through—but finding no real downside with a simple interview, he finally called the number the journalist gave him and arranged a meeting for the next day.

Sam watched from the bottom of the stairs when the smiling man entered their home and shook John’s hand. He wasn’t sure why, but he immediately got a bad feeling from the journalist. The man had the looks of a villain instead of a simple reporter, the immaculate black suit along with a black tie and shoes just adding to the shady image. Even his voice seemed…off. Deep with a charming British accent, the man sounded like some mafia boss, Sam unable to shake the eerie feeling the journalist’s wicked air of mischief was giving off. He wondered if maybe it was just John’s own paranoid behavior rubbing off on him, and since he seriously didn’t want to turn into his dad, Sam decided to stop worrying about the guy, ignoring the nervous ball of dread in the pit of his stomach when he asked for a tour around the house.

When the man winked at him as he and his father walked past the staircase, however, Sam couldn’t help but cringe.

John showed him around the house, explaining this and that, told him about how efficient the panic rooms and the weapons hidden around the house were, though did not reveal their location when asked about them, to Sam’s relief. And when they shook hands and the journalist said his goodbyes, he let out a long sigh and stopped chewing his nails, which he didn’t even realize he was doing until the man left. This life was making him develop some nervous ticks, making him worry that this constant anxiety would cause him to gain wrinkles, even though he was only fourteen.

He was rather curious about the article, though, so he decided to check the newspaper the man said was working for, at least its online version. After a few days have passed and there was still no article, Sam was starting to get a little suspicious, but immediately calmed himself with a quick breathing exercise he knew usually worked, because he had promised himself he wouldn’t get worked up over the little things, the kind of simple stuff that would have had John climbing the walls, but not him. He had to stay the reasonable one in this family, or else he could wave goodbye to the normal life he wished he’d find once John was gone.

And when that very opportunity presented itself to Sam, instead of a better life, he found himself dragged into a living nightmare.

 


	2. Three Knee Deep

 

One week had passed since the journalist’s visit and Sam was just about to forget the man and that dark look in his eyes, when it happened.

He was in his room, in the middle of reading one of his favorite books. **Red Dragon** has caught his interest from the very first chapter, quickly becoming one of those books he just couldn’t put down, and since his life wasn’t as busy as any other fourteen year old kid’s, Sam decided to do just that. He holed up in his room, only leaving when it was really necessary like eating, using the bathroom, or training with his dad. It was already 1am and he knew he was supposed to be sleeping, already yawning and needing to blink twice as much to keep his dry and tired eyes open, but Will Graham was getting stabbed and Sam was definitely not going to put the book down at such an exciting scene.

Feeling another yawn coming on, Sam groaned and closed his eyes, yawning with his mouth hanging open like some majestic lion; however when he opened his eyes again, the whole room was dark. The book in his hands disappeared in the darkness, Sam feeling its smooth paper surface under his fingers but unable to see it with his eyes, and as he glanced at the electric clock on his bedside table, he couldn’t find the bright red numbers either.

A power outage.

He didn’t worry right away, as he knew that they had a backup generator. When nothing happened after he waited a minute, his room still bathed in complete and utter black, now then he began feeling the first signs of dread showing themselves and prodding at his nerves, firing up and intensifying his senses.

Slowly crawling out of bed, he placed the book on what he hoped was the clock on the table, then kept one arm extended in front of himself and the other patting along the wall and furniture on his right while walking ahead, in hopes of finding and reaching the door without tripping on something. When he felt the cold steel against his skin as he wrapped his fingers around the handle, Sam took one deep breath and held it in as he cautiously opened the door and peeked out through the gap. The hallway was just as dark as his room—which was the second door on top of the staircase—so he didn’t get any smarter by gazing into the darkness. Sighing and deciding that maybe it was about time he behaved like someone brought up by a fighter, he opened the door completely and wandered out into the darkness and toward what he believed were the stairs. This could have very well been a test made by John, he realized, one to test his ability to react appropriately in unexpected situations such as this.

When he heard the low whispers and saw the bright rays of flashlights penetrating the darkness, Sam was very quick to discard that idea.

He cursed inwardly, then did so again when he backed into a wall. Keeping his eyes glued on the three figures with the lights, his heart sank when he recognized one of them. It was the journalist guy, wearing the same black suit as Sam had seen him in that day, all that darkness on him helping the man blend in with his surroundings. So that’s why he never published the article—that man just wanted to use the info he gathered to break into their house.

The sudden sounds of footsteps made Sam whip his head around, his eyes needing a moment to get used to the darkness again after staring at the flashlights, but instead of panic, he felt himself relax as he saw his dad walking up to him. He had a shotgun in his hands, probably already loaded, and when he stopped next to Sam, he raised a finger to his lips, signaling for him to keep quiet. Sam wasn’t going to start screaming and give their location away to whoever those people were downstairs, so he nodded, swallowing nervously as he watched John disappear in the darkness as he headed toward the stairs.

He’s been trained for a moment like this his entire life, but Sam wasn’t taking it as well as he had hoped he would if something like this ever happened. He even forgot to get his butterfly knife that he had hidden under his pillow, and that was number one on the long list of rules one must do if confronted with a situation such as this. Disappointed in himself, he decided he wasn’t going to stand idly by and just watch. No, he was Sam Winchester, and even though he didn’t quite fancy the life John has forced on him, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to use what he knew when the situation asked for it. And three people breaking into their home was certainly part of those scenarios any survivalist was born prepared.

He tiptoed back to his room and grabbed the blade from under the pillow, then was about to walk out of his room and go back to the stairs when he heard the gunshots. Sam froze with his hand hovering above his door handle. Three shots—two belonging to a larger weapon and one to a smaller one, maybe a pistol. The other two had to be his dad, and the lack of any sound following the shots was frightening Sam more and more as the seconds trickled by. Unable to take it any longer, he tightened his grip on the butterfly knife and opened the door, before creeping out into the hallway.

Then as he reached the stairs, he stopped again and crouched down just in time for the searching beam of light to miss him and glide over his head, the people downstairs flashing their lights around the room before turning to each other.

“So you’re sure about it?” a raspy, slightly southern accented voice asked, obviously male, Sam curious but not daring to peek over the wooden railing at the people talking no too far from his hiding spot.

A familiar voice snorted. “I don’t just imagine a kid. I still possess all of my brain cells and, unlike with you, they’re still working. So yes, he’s got a kid, and unless he’s suddenly become deaf over the past few days, I’m pretty sure the gunshots have woken him by now.”

“Oh sorry for supposing you could make mistakes, your majesty.” The first voice chuckled. “I guess I forgot just how much of a kiss-ass you are, too terrified of the boss to ever do something wrong.”

“At least I’ve never lost important cargo and brought shame on us,” the familiar voice hissed, bitter irritation audible in his tone.

“Brought shame? Do you want me to commit hara-kiri now? Would that please you, you pompous swine?”

A third voice, also rather deep but much younger-sounding, hushed them angrily. “Cut it out, you two! If the kid didn’t wake up from the gunshots, I’m sure your childish bickering did the job,” the disembodied voice snapped, sighing in frustration. “This is exactly why I didn’t wanna come. I swear I’m more of an adult than the two of you combined.”

“Hey, this time I wasn’t the one who started it,” the voice Sam recognized as the fake journalist complained, then after a moment of silence added, “Anyway, I’m not dealing with him. I’m not good with kids. They break far too easy for my liking.”

Another sigh from the younger one. “Then just get the stuff we came for. Make yourself useful instead of whining. I’ll take care of the kid.”

That did not sound good, at all. Sam heard them as they dispersed, the color draining from his face as the thumping sound of one of them climbing the stairs reached his ears. Horror turned his limbs to solid rock, but the adrenaline rush he was experiencing from the panic helped him scramble to his feet and disappear in the hallway before the man reached the top of the stairway. He only had his knife on him, and both panic rooms were way too far for him to make it, but he remembered there being a gun in one of the couch cushions in his dad’s room, so Sam quickly bolted for the door to his left.

His eyes had gotten used to the darkness by now, Sam easily navigating himself as he slipped through the ajar door then closed it as quietly as he could, before rushing over to the couch at the foot end of the bed. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, suddenly realizing that ever since the gunshots, he couldn’t see nor hear his dad, but he quickly squeezed his eyes shut and forced the tears down. John didn’t teach him to get emotional, not when his life was on the line. And anyway, his dad might have just been hiding somewhere, planning on landing a surprise attack any second now. He’d then scold Sam for being a coward and make him train twice as much, and he would be right to do so, because Sam was crying and his hands were shaking because John was dead, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise.

Sniffing, he clasped a hand around his mouth as he gasped when he heard the door to his room open. He didn’t have much time, Sam quickly wiping the stubborn tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, then stabbed his butterfly knife into one of the cushions and sliced it open, the sound ending up louder than he’d expected. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was feeling sick, the blade slipping out of his sweaty palms as he took a hold of the gun freed from the cushion instead and turned toward the door behind him. It was still closed, but it was only a matter of time before the man upstairs would come looking for him here. Which was fine; Sam was prepared and he had a gun, and this time, he knew he wouldn’t mind committing murder if it was to avenge his father.

That being said, he still couldn’t stop his hands and knees from shaking as he raised the gun and pointed it at the door, because damn it, all of this was too much. Too sudden, and even though Sam has been trained to handle situations like these, he never actually thought he’d have to defend himself, finding himself in a kill or be killed scenario from one moment to the next. He stood there, breathing as quietly as possible while keeping his eyes on the door and listening, straining his ears for the smallest of sounds.

Then he didn’t have focus on the eerie silence anymore, as the man was talking.

“I know you’re here somewhere,” he said tauntingly from somewhere behind the door, his voice hiding an alarming amount of danger and making Sam bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from letting out any frightened sounds. “Hiding won’t get you anywhere, you know? Poor little daddy-o is already dead as a doornail and is dirtying your living room’s carpet with his blood, and if you don’t wanna end up like him, I suggest you be a good boy and come out willingly.”

He could feel fresh tears welling up in his eyes at the mention of his father’s death, but he quickly blinked them away and tightened his grip on the gun. This wasn’t the time for mourning, but for revenge; for anger.

Getting angry while being blinded by a flashlight wasn’t that easy, though.

Sam gasped and raised a hand from the gun to cover his eyes as the door got suddenly kicked open, the loud noise followed by the radiant light of the flashlight as its wielder shined it straight into his face.

“There you are.” He heard the voice, but still couldn’t see who was speaking, and as he backed into the couch while hearing the man advancing on him, Sam felt horror filling his veins and he became frantic, blindly squeezing off a shot and hoping it hit something.

The light was gone from his eyes and he heard the man hiss in what Sam hoped was agonizing pain. Lowering the hand that was protecting his eyes from the bright light, he got a good look at the man in front of him for the first time, realizing that it wasn’t a man he was looking at, but just a boy. Several years older than Sam, but still a boy; and when he glared with his one gleaming emerald eye at him, the other one hidden by some sort of black eyepatch, Sam felt the blood in his veins turn to ice.

“Son of a bitch,” the boy growled, Sam’s eyes widening as he pulled out a machete and snarled at him. “Nearly fucking shot my leg, you little shit.”

“G-Get away from me or next time I won’t miss!” he exclaimed, his voice coming out much weaker than he hoped as he aimed the gun at the other’s chest, the way the boy’s snarl twisted into a sneer really not making him think of any happy thoughts.

“You just try, I dare you. But then you better not miss again, because if you do, I’ll be breaking both of your arms in a way they’ll never be able to heal properly, make a cripple out of you,” he threatened lowly as he flashed the light up and down Sam’s body, his much smaller and skinnier than the boy’s grinning at him like some psychopath.

That gave him an idea, and Sam swallowed down the lump in his throat, willing his body to move as he took a tentative step to the side and toward the knife he dropped not too long ago. Keeping the gun aimed at the other, he slowly crouched down, waiting for the boy to realize what he was doing, and when he finally did and began closing the distance between them with long strides, Sam chose that moment to shoot.

He gasped and winced in pain as the gun got brutally kicked out of his hand before he could’ve pulled the trigger, but managed to get a hold of the knife before the boy grabbed a fistful of his hair with the hand holding the flashlight and yanked him to his feet. Cursing Sam as he pressed the sharp side of the machete against the skin on his throat, the boy leaned in his face then let out a sharp cry as Sam jabbed his own blade in his shoulder, then landed a vicious kick to his kneecap when the boy’s hold on his hair wavered. He was smaller and seemingly much feebler than the other male, but Sam was also agile and strong, even if that didn’t show on his relatively skinny body. So it was the easiest thing in the world for him to slip out of the boy’s grasp and dart out of the room, immediately regretting not collecting the gun that got knocked out of his hand but not having time to go back and get it, that becoming evident when he heard the shout of fury coming from the room.

Running to the stairs, he thought about going down and leaving the house, but was quick to discard that idea when he saw the beam of a flashlight growing rapidly as someone walked to the stairs, probably alarmed by the screaming. That wasn’t good news, not at all, leaving Sam with no choice but to go back the way he came from and hopefully reach to attic with the panic room in it, before anyone else reached him.

He rushed back, passing his dad’s room just in time before the boy came marching out, Sam panting heavily and forcing his legs to move faster when he realized that bastard was running after him. Ripping the door to the attic open, he took two steps at a time while climbing the stairs, but once he reached the top, his heart sank. The panic room had several locks on it and his pursuer was nearly in the attic as well, much faster than Sam had anticipated. He wouldn’t have time to get in the room, instead successfully leading himself to a dead end, but this couldn’t be the end. No, he refused to give up, swiftly scanning the dark attic and, not having neither time nor the luxury to be picky, he sprinted to a wardrobe they used to keep winter coats in and hid inside, crouching down into a ball and pressing his hands against his mouth, breathing as silently as possible.

Then he even stopped that, not daring to move or breathe, to even blink as he heard the floorboards creak under the boy’s weight when he walked into the attic, seeing the thin light of the flashlight through the gap of the closet doors as it illuminated the tiny specks of dust swirling in confusion, their slumber disturbed as the boy paced around the room.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” the boy drawled in a sing-song voice, the creepy sound sending a terrified shiver down Sam’s spine and making his breath hitch. That wasn’t the best reaction he could’ve had, as when the air thick with dust entered his lungs so suddenly, he had to grit his teeth to stop himself from coughing, his hands trembling from the effort as he pressed them harder against his mouth. His shoulders and whole body began shaking with sudden spasms as he fought the coughing fit, his eyes tearing up in both frustration and desperation.

When it finally died down, Sam let out a slow, ragged exhale, focusing for a moment on calming down before looking out the narrow gap again. But when he did, he couldn’t stop the sudden and violent coughs that escaped him as he gasped loudly; because instead of the attic, all Sam saw upon peering through the gap was one curious and wide, piercing eyeball staring right at him.

“Got you now,” the boy sneered as he yanked open the doors and grabbed Sam by his arm, dragging him out of the safety of the wardrobe and into the attic. He thrashed and screamed, no use in staying silent anymore, his heart hammering in his chest as he began hyperventilating, panting and crying and kicking and clawing. The boy was still much taller and stronger than him, though, and managed to pin him down to the floor, but all that did was drive Sam further into a frenzy.

“No, no! Get off me, you psycho pirate!” he screamed, too scared to remember his training as he punched blindly at the boy looming over him. Sam managed to slug him once in the jaw before the other let out a pissed-off growl and grabbed his wrists, moving them above his head and keeping them there with one hand, using the other to raise the machete to his throat. And this time he didn’t just threaten Sam with it; he pressed the cold blade hard against the burning skin and made a thin cut, Sam hissing at the pain of it and breaking out in cold sweat as he felt his own warm blood trickling down his neck.

The boy just shook his head, laughing at his misery. “Oh, you can thank yourself for this, kiddo. You really shouldn’t have run from me,” he whispered as he leaned dangerously close, Sam’s eyes wide and his vision blurry from tears. But even like that, he could see the boy’s sharp features, the scar on his cheek that disappeared under the eyepatch, that one penetrating eye glowing with something dark and impossibly wicked, and when he leaned even closer, those strangely soft lips brushing against the shell of Sam’s ear, his breath hitched. “You know, you’re…kind of pretty when you’re shaking like this.”

Sam’s eyes went plate-sized and he immediately stopped trembling, the shock of those words turning his whole body rigid and making his stomach lurch. Never in his life has he ever felt such intense fear, such heart stopping terror, but as this boy pulled away from his ear and narrowed his eye, watching him like a hungry predator with a deadly weapon pressed into Sam’s skin, he couldn’t stop the wretched sobs that escaped him. It was pathetic, he knew that, as at least Sam of all people should have had the guts to go up against a maniac like the one hovering above him, but what fuelled his anger and his will to survive was immediately put out and turned to meager ashes by this boy’s firm hands, leaving Sam exasperated and petrified.

And the sadistic boy just laughed, his lips curling into a wide grin as he slid the blade of the machete across another part of Sam’s throat and made a new cut. “Why don’t you try begging for your life? I bet you’d be really good at it, maybe even convince me to let you go.”

Sam sniffed, blinking up at the grinning boy, then frowned and gathered every last bit of courage he had left. “How about you go and fuck yourself instead?” he hissed, knowing full well that the boy was just toying with him and that begging wouldn’t get him anywhere, and he refused to give this whacko the satisfaction of watching him throw whatever remained of his dignity away.

“Good, I hoped you’d refuse,” he stated, tightening his grip on Sam’s wrists as his one eye glanced from the other’s eyes to his lips. “I like them feisty.”

He then moved the machete away from Sam’s throat and began slowly sliding it down his heaving chest, Sam starting to shake again as he watched the sharp blade with wide, panic-stricken eyes.

“Hey, what the bloody Hell is taking so long?” an annoyed rumble of a voice yelled from the bottom of the stairs leading to the attic, halting the boy’s movements.

He sighed, reluctantly withdrawing both his hands from Sam, who quickly glanced at the panic room not too far from them. However it seemed he wasn’t too discreet about doing so, as in the next moment, he felt a powerful hand seize his arm and jerk him to his feet, Sam groaning in pain and then immediately shutting up as the machete was, yet again, pressed against his throat.

“Walk,” the boy barked as he moved forward, giving Sam a harsh shove and nearly making him trip and fall right into the blade held to his skin. “And don’t you even think about running, or I’ll chop your pretty little legs off.”

Sam did as he was told, not really wanting to know it the boy was bluffing or was seriously considering butchering him, slowly moving one leg after the other, walking faster when he felt the hand around his arm tighten threateningly. They made their way down the stairs, meeting up with the remaining two men waiting there, Sam clenching his jaw to stop himself from reacting when the one he recognized as the fake journalist glared down at him.

“What is this?” he demanded, shifting his glaring eyes from Sam to the boy behind him.

“Pretty sure it’s called a human boy.” Sam heard his chuckle coming from behind, the derisive smirk clearly audible in his voice.

“You know that is not what I meant,” the man spat, narrowing his eyes as he flashed the light up and down Sam’s body, then shook his head. “We weren’t supposed to take hostages, Dean. The boss isn’t going to be happy about this.”

The boy, whose name was apparently Dean, snorted. “The boss, the boss. It’s always about the boss with you. I didn’t kill the kid, so what? Murder isn’t all there is to life, and especially to our job; or did you forget that?”

The man’s eyes twitched, his lips curling into a snarl as he opened his mouth to say something, but the other one next to him raised a hand to silence him and stepped forward. “He’s right, you know?” the third man said, Sam getting a good look at him for the first time in the luminous light of the three flashlights. He had short brown hair hidden under a black fatigue cap, and beard, his pair of electric blue eyes as he stared at Sam sending an uneasy chill down his spine. “The kid doesn’t look half bad. We could get some good money out of him.”

Feeling the dread in his stomach grow and expand, Sam closed his shaking hands into fists as he watched the other man roll his eyes. “I still think shutting him up with a gun is a better idea, but I guess there’s just no arguing with the two of you. I swear, sometimes I feel like I’m leading a conversation with two brick walls,” he complained, before walking past them, only pausing to look back over his shoulder and raise an eyebrow at them. “So? Come on, bring the kid. We need the boss’s approval if you want to sell him.”

“You heard him,” Dean said from behind him, nudging him with his knee. “Get a move on.”

He wanted to run so bad. Sam thought of jumping over the railing as they reached the staircase, then of tripping the boy as they walked downstairs, but with the menacing blade refusing to leave his throat no matter how he twisted his head and tried to ease away from the machete’s alarming presence, his hopes of escaping quickly turned from little to non-existent. And when he got pushed out the front door and saw one of the men stuffing a severed arm into a large, black garbage bag, he couldn’t control his nausea anymore and doubled over, emptying his stomach on the grass.

“Damn it Crowley, couldn’t you get rid of the body _before_ we brought out the kid?” he heard Dean’s frustrated voice grumble, two other voices joining the first and talking about something, but Sam wasn’t listening anymore.

They killed his father, chopped him up like some meat at the butcher’s, and now they were planning on selling him. Sam liked to think of himself as a relatively strong person, compared to the rest of the kids his age, but this was too much. His knees shook and then buckled, Sam falling to the ground as he finally let the shock of what was happening to him take over. Tears dribbled from his eyes, looking like a complete wreck as snot escaped his nose and joined the saliva slowly trickling past his twisted lips, Sam heaving and sobbing in misery. The sorrow and the terror had him wailing like some baby, but he couldn’t care how pathetic he looked, the strong emotions clouding his mind and draining every last bit of strength from his limbs.

“Somebody shut him up already!” someone shouted, Sam didn’t know who and didn’t care. The hand around his arm that had disappeared when he collapsed to the ground was suddenly back, tugging him to his feet, and the rough action snapped something in Sam and he lashed out, howling in fury and anguish as he turned around and kneed the boy in the groin, before darting past a black van parked in their garden.

He had no place in mind as he ran, just running blindly and wanting to get away from those lunatics. Their angry shouts echoed behind him as Sam reached the streets and took a left, running down the sidewalk and not daring to look back. They could be chasing him or not, he didn’t know and wasn’t in the mood of knowing either, too busy ducking under low branches and climbing over fences, running around the neighborhood in the most complicated way possible. Nobody was awake, judging from the lack of light in windows, the streets eerily silent with the only sound being Sam’s harsh panting and the dull thumps of his bare feet hitting the cold pavement. The moon was high in the starry sky, its full form illuminating the streets like one brilliant spotlight, following and aiding Sam wherever he went.

He thought about screaming, shouting for help, but he was too afraid his panicked yells would give away his position not only to his possible saviors, but to his captors as well. So he wasn’t going to risk it, instead just running and hiding and praying for them to give up on Sam, to call it a day or something and just leave.

Then he heard the sound of a car driving with too much speed for it to be one of the residents, Sam’s heart nearly stopping when he realized the deep rumble of the engine was growing louder and coming his way.

This time risking a glance over his shoulder, his eyes widened as he saw the headlights of the black van penetrating the darkness of the street Sam was running in. He quickly glanced around, spotting a shrub fence not too far from him, and didn’t hesitate as he dove right into it, crawling to the other side and then sitting with his back pressed into the bushes. He remained completely motionless, taking long and deep breaths as he tried to control his breathing, then immediately quieted down as he heard the car reaching his hiding spot, faint rays from the headlights piercing through the thick, small leaves of the hedge and casting its shadow over the wall in front of Sam.

He held his breath, turning his head to the side as he carefully listened to the sound of the car slowing down, reaching him before passing the bushes. But just when Sam thought that the threat was finally gone, that he was safe, he heard the car stop, its engine shutting off not too far from him, and he knew he was screwed. The car doors opened, but Sam didn’t dare look, already knowing without needing to see that the men were coming his way, probably holding guns loaded with bullets meant for him. But that didn’t mean he should just sit there patiently and wait for his fate, to bite the bullet willingly. Sam needed to keep running, then continue even after his lungs and legs were burning, he needed to save himself, refusing to accept death by the hands of these vicious men.

So he got on his knees before getting in a crouching position, slowly backing away from where the car had stopped, ready to jump to his feet and run at a moment’s notice. He couldn’t hear footsteps, but since he didn’t have superhuman hearing, that didn’t mean anything. The men have gotten out of the car, that much he knew for sure, and he honestly doubted that they were just standing idly by, waiting for Sam to climb into the van like an obedient victim. Well, Sam was anything but that, bent on making these assholes’ lives a nightmare by running around, not quite ready to give up on this cat and mouse chase yet. If they wanted him, they sure as hell would have to work their asses off, Sam smirking to himself at his own deviousness.

He continued backing away, all the while keeping his eyes trained forward, making sure that nobody was popping out of the shadows and into his field of vision, but Sam had to realize that was wishful thinking, as in the next moment, that was exactly what happened. He froze in the crouching position he was, one hand against the shrubs and the other braced on the cold, rough asphalt under him, his eyes widening in disbelief as the black suited man named Crowley stepped onto the sidewalk and flashed him a crooked grin. He stood where the shrub fence ended, Sam cursing himself for picking a hiding spot with two openings, realization stabbing him like an icy dagger as he spun around just in time to see as two legs blocked the other escape route, the other man placing his hands on his hips and winking at him when Sam lifted his head to gape at him.

“Remember us?” the man said tauntingly, chuckling when Sam tried to back away but fell on his ass instead. He was trapped with a wall on his right and the bushes on his left, and the men blocking the only two exits in front and behind him.

“Just leave me alone!” he yelled, quickly scrambling to his feet and taking a step back at the same time as the man took one forward.

“Sorry pal, but no can do,” he stated with a shrug, before moving again, taking slow but long steps toward Sam, who was already backing the hell away from the guy. Then he remembered that there was another threat behind him, quickly risking a glance back over his shoulder and watching in dread as the other man began his advance on him as well.

He was going to get caught like this, Sam knew that, but what was he supposed to do? He could try crawling through the bushes again, but the man in front of him was way too close and the one behind was getting closer too, and there was no way he’d make it to the other side in time without getting his legs grabbed by at least one of them. Aside from that, there was really nothing he could do, unless he tried going for reckless and rush the man in front of him in a hopeless attempt to knock him over. But he saw no weapons in his hands, not remembering noticing one in Crowley’s hands either, so as long as he didn’t get grabbed and was fast, there was a slim chance he could, maybe, make it.

Sam took one look at the man’s muscular, strong-looking arms, and then immediately discarded that idea, deciding to go for the relatively safer option and lunged at the bushes next to him.

He felt no hands grasping at his legs as he plunged into the greenery, or when he climbed out on the other side, a wave of victorious relief rushing through his body as he got up from his hands and knees, and looked out into the street. It took him a moment to notice the figure walking up to him, but when he did, Sam couldn’t stop the yelp that escaped him when he came face to face with Dean’s glaring emerald eye.

“Hey there,” he said as a smirk spread across his face, Sam barely having any time to react before the boy’s right hand shot up and grabbed a fistful of his long hair, pulling him closer and then keeping him in place as the boy’s other hand pressed something against his mouth.

The cloth had a sickeningly sweet smell, it filling his nostrils when Sam gasped, immediately regretting doing so as soon as he felt a thick, heavy and syrupy daze descend and spread across his body, turning his limbs to jelly in a matter of seconds. Realizing that he just inhaled some sort of drug, presumably chloroform, he stopped breathing and began clawing at Dean’s hands, but the damage had been done. It was already too late, his eyelids feeling strangely heavy and his frantic hands sliding from the boy’s arms, Sam trying so hard but failing at staying on his feet.

“That’s it, take some nice, deep breaths,” Dean purred encouragingly as he lowered him to the ground, Sam falling into the boy’s arms and starting to breathe again, as he could only hold his breath for so long. He blinked lazily, then just closed his eyes and stopped fighting, suddenly forgetting the reason why he should resist the warm embrace of the body pressed against him in the first place.

His mind was swimming with incoherent thoughts as sleep slowly overtook him, and the last thing Sam heard before the darkness swallowed him up completely was the low sound of someone laughing.

 


	3. Buck Rogers Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, because here come the long chapters!

 

He awoke with a killer headache and a searing pain in his hands.

Groaning, Sam frowned when the sound got muffled, then his eyes flew open in shock as he realized he couldn’t even open his mouth. He blinked around himself, staring into the darkness with wide eyes and feeling his stomach drop as the realization that he was in the back of the van hit him.

The car wasn’t moving so they must have either stopped somewhere or reached their destination, Sam really hoping for it not to be the latter. He tried sitting up, which wasn’t that easy with his ankles bound together with what he guessed was duct-tape, the same material that was keeping his aching wrists behind his back and was sticking to his mouth and shutting him up. After a while of wriggling around like a mentally challenged caterpillar, Sam was finally sitting and leaning against the side of the van, grunting silently at the pain in his arm sockets. He wasn’t sure how long he’s been out, but judging from how sore his arms felt, it must have been more than an hour.

He grimaced as he peeled his tongue away from where it was stuck to the roof of his mouth, feeling incredibly thirsty and in high need of some painkillers. Damn, his head was pulsing with pain and even his eyes were hurting, feeling dry and stinging when he kept them open for too long.

Well, this wasn’t good. Not good at all. Sam wasn’t feeling like he was going to break down and cry anymore, the shock and sorrow of losing his dad and getting kidnapped already gone. He was scared shitless though, the silence in the van and the anticipation just fuelling his fear and driving his mind into overload, his sadistic brain concocting the sickest scenarios, laying out all the worst possible outcomes of his situation and leaving no place for happy endings whatsoever. The fact that he wasn’t dead yet was relieving and worrisome at the same time, especially when taking into consideration what the men said before. Sam was pretty sure it was something about selling him, and while he didn’t know if that meant selling his organs or his whole body, and in what way, he knew it couldn’t mean anything friendly.

He sat there in silence for a long while, waiting for his eyes to get used to the darkness, and when they did, Sam gazed around the inside of the van, but he didn’t get any smarter. It was completely empty, save for a ragged blanket on the side opposite of Sam, and what appeared to be a first aid kit in the right corner. Looking to his left and to the front of the van, he noticed a large wire screen separating the back from the front, making Sam wonder how many people have tried to claw their captors’ eyeballs out before they decided to mount the wire and turn the back of the van into a makeshift cage. He thought about squirming over to the first aid kit and using some on his neck, as the wounds from the machete were burning uncomfortably, but since his hands were tied behind his back, he honestly doubted that getting to the box would have been of any use.

So, seeing no other option aside from waiting for his demise, Sam took a deep breath through his nose and tilted his head back, closing his eyes and listening to the nothing in the air. Seconds, and then minutes trickled by like that, Sam fidgeting from time to time as he sat in the gradually more and more painful position, his legs and back beginning to hurt from it. He stayed like that until he couldn’t take the nagging discomfort, and tried lying down on his side without toppling over, letting out a small sigh when he lowered himself and pulled up his knees. Then the arm he was lying on started hurting, and Sam was tempted to start whining in frustration.

He didn’t have to, though, not sure if he felt relieved or nervous when after a few more minutes of silence, he heard someone at the rear door of the van. Quickly wiggling into a more or less sitting position, he watched as the doors opened, revealing the third and only man whose name he didn’t know.

“You’re wanted, sleeping beauty,” the man said with a grin, letting go of the doors to reach inside the van, but Sam raised his legs and kicked the man’s hands away before he could’ve taken a hold of him. Sam narrowed his eyes at him, daring him to touch his legs, the man sighing and raising his hands in surrender. “Don’t make this harder for the both of us, please.” He raised his eyebrows at the bound kid expectantly, Sam mumbling something very nasty in return, his creative curses unfortunately muffled by the tape on his mouth. But his glaring eyes suddenly turned round and nervous when he saw the man pull out a gun and aim it at him. “I didn’t want to do this, but you’re forcing my hands, kid. Now get out of the car.”

Sam hesitated for only a moment before slowly squirming over to the open doors of the van, letting his legs dangle over the edge and pausing in his movements when he noticed the hunting knife in the man’s other hand.

Sensing Sam’s unease, he glanced from the blade in his hand to the silent boy, before flashing him a smile. “No worries, I’m not skinning you. But I might cut you if you start moving around, so I suggest you stay still,” he said, keeping the gun pointed at Sam’s head as he hooked the blade under the duct-tape encircling his ankles and cut it away with a few brutal slashes. “There, much better, isn’t it?”

Sam jumped out of the van and onto his feet, nearly losing his balance as his knees gave way under him, but a rough hand on his already aching biceps kept him upright. Then they were walking, Sam noticing the first signs of sunrise as he glanced around his new surroundings. All he saw were trees and a vast meadow to his right, and of course the huge-ass warehouse towering before him like a giant. He gulped down his unease as they walked the short distance from the car to a large metal sliding door, the man letting go of him to take a hold of the small depression in the door and pull.

The gravel under his feet gave way to solid cement as Sam stepped inside the warehouse, which looked more like some sort of cozy shelter. Not far from him was a ping-pong table and at the end of the large room was some sort of makeshift living room, with a flat screen TV, a dark purple couch facing it, and two comfortable looking armchairs of the same color on each side. Above the television was a wide, half oval window made up of many tiny rectangular ones, all stained and in need of a good polishing. And on both his right and left side were industrial-looking steel stairs leading to the same kind of steel catwalks, supported by several metal pillars protruding from the floor and merging with the railings on the side of the catwalks, before reaching their final destination in the raised ceiling.

He would have been impressed if this didn’t happen to be his kidnappers’ hideout, but since it was, Sam ducked his head and let his bangs fall in front of his eyes as he was taken to a room in the far right corner, hidden behind one of the only two doors on that side.

As he entered the room, it felt like he’d just stepped into a completely different world, one filled with warm colors and thick, plush chairs. He gaped around in awe, taking in the sight that reminded him of a psychiatrist’s office from one of the TV shows he’d seen a few months ago. The floor under his feet was made up of dark wooden planks; that is, when it wasn’t covered by a very beige and very soft-looking fur rug. The walls were of a deep shade of red and had several paintings, smaller bookshelves and potted plants mounted on them, in exception of one wall, which was fully covered by one great bookshelf. And in front of that bookshelf was a wooden desk, behind which sat a man who Sam had no doubt was someone important, his suspicions proving correct when the man next to him holstered his gun and stepped forward.

“Here he is, boss,” he said, motioning to Sam, who really wasn’t feeling like moving, especially not when the man sitting behind the desk looked up from the papers he was going through and beckoned to him.

After receiving a painful jab in his back, he reluctantly wandered over to the boss man, trying not to stare too much when he smiled at him. “Come on, no need to be shy,” he said reassuringly, but this fake act wasn’t going to work on Sam. He made sure to show that by glaring at the man as he stopped before the desk, though it was kind of hard to keep his threatening looks up with the guy tilting his head and smiling at him like that. “Ah, right. I’m sure you must be really thirsty by now. Do take a seat, please.” The man nodded toward the brown chair next to Sam, before looking at the man still standing in the doorway and waving a hand to Sam. “Take the tapes off.”

He looked back and watched as the man headed over to him, hissing in pain as the tape over his mouth was suddenly and too violently ripped off, then flinching when he felt the cold blade of the man’s hunting knife press into his wrist as he cut the rest of the binds away.

“Thank you, Benny,” the boss said with no real emotion in his voice, Benny giving him a brief nod before moving away from the desk, but not leaving the room. Sam tried his best to ignore the intent pairs of eyes on him as he lowered his own and focused on rubbing his aching wrists and numb shoulders, pulling a face when he felt something pop. God, he was feeling like an eighty years old grandpa.

He kept staring at his shoes, even when he heard the man at the desk fumble with something, his body betraying him as he felt an intense thirst when he heard liquid being poured into a glass. Hesitantly raising his gaze, Sam chewed on his lower lip as he noticed the glass filled with water on the desk, the man chuckling at his reaction and pushing it across the wooden surface, tempting the boy.

“It’s fine, it isn’t poisoned. Just water,” he said, pouring some in another glass and drinking it in front of Sam, before flashing him a persuading smile. “See?”

Really not wanting to fall for such a simple trick, but feeling too damn thirsty to care right now, Sam carefully took a hold of the glass and raised it to his lips, smelling its content before taking a small sip. It tasted like water, so he quickly downed the whole thing, the soothing liquid feeling heavenly against his parched throat. When he put the glass back on the desk, Sam glanced warily at the comfortable looking chair next to him, but decided to stay standing instead, not wanting to seem too cooperative. He played with the hem of his shirt, looking around the room in silence while the man sitting in his own chair leaned forward on his elbows and regarded Sam with curious eyes, the anxious boy meeting his gaze after a painstaking amount of time.

No wonder this guy was named the boss—he couldn’t have looked the part more even if he tried. With a pair of mysterious, icy blue eyes, short and messy light brown hair, and the faint stubble, not to mention the whole “I am evil” aura he was giving off, the man looked like he was born to bring pain and suffering into the world. And if his looks wouldn’t have been convincing enough, his way-too-polite voice with the well hidden, but just barely audible menace in it, had Sam shuddering in sudden dread and taking a step back, feeling like he was having a staring contest with the Devil himself.

“You’re Sam, right?” he said with that same eerily polite smile. “My name is Nick. I heard you caused my men quite the trouble. So tell me, Sam…” The man placed his hands on the table and stood up, leaning forward and looking straight into Sam’s eyes. “Were you worth all that trouble?”

He blinked at Nick, speechless for a moment, then just when he gathered enough courage to open his mouth, the man was speaking again.

Glancing at Benny still standing not far from them, he pulled back from the desk and motioned to Sam. “Strip him.”

His eyes going comically wide in record time, Sam turned toward the smirking man closing in on him and backed away, gasping when he fell into the chair behind him and not having enough time to stand up before Benny reached him, and it wasn’t long before he felt the man’s large hands on him, lifting his shirt and trying to pull it over his head. Sam panicked, hugging himself and kicking at the man, immediately regretting doing so when he saw the glint of the knife, then felt the blade nick his skin as Benny slid it under his shirt and began shredding his clothes.

“No, please! Stop it!” he cried, however gave up on moving in fear of getting himself cut somewhere important. So he just sat there in the chair, watching in horror as his shirt disappeared, then gripped the armrests so tight his knuckles turned white when his pants got tugged down, followed by his underwear. He immediately pressed his thighs together and covered his lower regions with his hands, trembling in both fear and the way the cold air ghosted over his naked skin and made goosebumps appear all across his body.

“Now now, don’t cover yourself,” Nick coaxed him, the amount of tenderness in his voice pissing Sam off. “Come on, stand up and let me see you.”

“Like hell I’m going to move from this chair!” he snarled, trying to fold his body together as he bent forward and bared his teeth at the smirking man behind the desk.

“I see Dean wasn’t joking about your fighting spirit.” Nick chuckled, the smile suddenly fading from his face as he waved a hand to Sam while glancing at Benny, the man turning to him and ripping his hands away from his crotch.

“Let go, you fucking pedophile!” Sam shouted, then cried out as a piercing pain shot up from his arms as they got twisted behind his back, Benny hauling him out of the chair and yanking his head back by his hair.

His scalp was really starting to hurt from all the hair tugging he was getting.

Sam stood there panting, gritting his teeth in a strange mix of embarrassment, irritation and persistent horror as Nick walked around the desk before stopping in front of him. He trailed his eyes down the boy’s body, Sam unable to take it and feeling the blush creep onto his cheeks when the man’s gaze lingered on his crotch, quickly averting his eyes and staring at the chair instead. Then his breath hitched and every single muscle in his body tensed as he felt Nick’s fingers on his waist, Sam squeezing his eyes shut and staying completely motionless until the digits disappeared and the hold on both his arms and hair weakened.

“You were right not to kill him,” he heard Nick say, Sam slowly opening his eyes and pulling his hands out of Benny’s grasp to cover himself again, before glancing nervously from one man to another.

“Right? A pretty face and body like that could get us a lot of money in the sex industry,” Benny stated excitedly, Sam forgetting to breathe as those words sank in.

“Yes, it could. Good job,” Nick praised the man, those two speaking as if Sam wasn’t right there next to them, hearing everything they were saying and freaking the hell out. So that’s what they meant when they talked about selling him. The thought of sex slavery did cross his mind, of course it did, but he was quick at discarding and forgetting all about it; apparently too quick.

Scanning the floor for any remains of his clothes that were still wearable, Sam gave up after a moment and looked up at Nick instead, his glare weak and his breathing uneven, but damn it, he wasn’t going to just roll with this. “You can’t just sell me like I’m some sort of…some sort of object! People will be looking for me!”

That was a blatant lie, obviously. The only person that ever cared about him and would have come searching for him was dead in some black plastic bag. Nobody would miss him or even notice his absence, not even their neighbors. He was truly alone in this world now, the realization of that just making Sam more desperate, since what did he have to lose, really?

“Actually, we can,” instead of the boss, Benny answered him, the man grinning down at him as Sam scowled. “That’s what we do. Child trafficking isn’t really one of our favorite, but whatever brings food to the table.”

“We’re smugglers,” Nick continued, “just everyday faces in the crowds, working in the shadows without ever leaving a trace of our existence or our work behind. We only steal things people wouldn’t miss or, if yes, would only realize they were gone when it’s far too late to do anything about it. We cover our tracks and never leave any witnesses behind. And you’re here right now, Sam, because you are one of these very _objects_ that nobody would give a single shit about if they disappeared from the face of the earth. If you ask me, you should be grateful that you’re not dead.”

“Grateful?!” he exclaimed incredulously, his voice rising an octave and his hands shaking as he glowered sourly at the man. “You must be kidding me! You say I’m gonna get sold off to work as some sort of sex toy, and you want me to feel grateful for that? H-How fucked up is your brain?!” Sam growled, as in he literally growled at Nick, a wild fire burning in his eyes as all his self-preservation flew right out the window, the furious boy snarling at the amused-looking man. “I’d rather die than be used like that! I would welcome death over that anytime, and I don’t care what you do to me, how much you hurt me or try to break me, because I am never going to let you sell me to some filthy bureaucratic pigs! I will take my own life before letting that happen!”

The strong emotions were turning his heart into a drum on steroids, his pulse skyrocketing and his breathing quickening until he was panting like he just finished running the whole length of The Great Wall of China, Sam feeling extremely on edge and ready to pounce at anything or anyone.

Nick watched him for the longest moment, studying Sam’s face with his curious eyes, before leaning against the desk and looking at Benny. “Give him your jacket. And the knife.”

Frowning, the man hesitated only a second before doing as he was told, shrugging out of his jacket and handing it over to Sam, who might have felt a bit confused, but wasn’t going to refuse the offered article of clothing. He quickly pulled it on and zipped it up, surprised that it was actually big enough to cover his crotch, the bottom of the warm jacket even brushing his thighs. He hoped that was only because the jacket was big and not because he was tiny, as Sam had a bit of a height complex that he usually tried not to think of.

When Benny extended his hand with the knife in it, its hilt facing Sam, he glanced at Nick and gave him a questioning look, but when the man just smiled, Sam concluded that he wasn’t going to get tackled to the ground if he took the weapon. So he took a hold of it, then turned it in his hands before tightening his grip on the leather shaft, not sure what to make of the situation but not really hating it.

“You say you’re ready to die,” Nick said, his voice piercing the silence heavy with tension in the air. “I want to see you prove it to me. From what I gather, you’re capable of fighting for yourself. You injured one of my men and nearly managed to escape. So go ahead—fascinate me, Sam.”

He was about to ask just what Nick meant by that, when Benny stepped forward and raised his fists in a way that meant a great deal of pain if Sam wasn’t going to dodge in time. Thankfully, his reflexes were still as good as he remembered, Sam stumbling backward as one of the man’s fists shot forward, then quickly moved behind the chair, putting it between him and Benny, who paused to roll the sleeves of his shirt up before flashing a sly grin at him. Then as if following an unheard command, the man grabbed the chair and threw it out of the way, then lunged at Sam. Caught slightly off-guard, he let Benny get a hold of his wrist, but feeling his survival instincts kicking in, Sam immediately began slashing at the other’s arm, swiftly yanking his wrist out of the man’s grasp before crouching down and landing a brutal kick to one of his knees.

“You little—” Benny hissed, grabbing at thin air as Sam rolled out of the way, but then he was quickly losing his balance and falling on his ass when the pissed man pulled the rug out from under his feet. He closed the distance between them with two long steps, stomping down on Sam’s ankle when he tried to crawl away, the boy crying out as a burning pain shot up from his leg. Then Benny was wrapping his hands around his throat, squeezing his already hurting and abused neck between his fingers, Sam gasping and panicking for a moment before remembering that he had a knife, which he hurriedly used to do something very risky. He lifted it to his own neck and then plunged it into Benny’s hand, and even though he could feel the tip of the blade cutting into his skin, Sam didn’t mind because that just meant that he succeeded in piercing the man’s hand.

Screaming in pain, Benny backed away; Sam immediately pulling out the knife from the howling man’s hand when he withdrew the heavily bleeding appendage, then moved the blade shining in crimson to the man’s thigh and buried it in his flesh in a swift in and out movement, Sam disappearing from in front of Benny before he could have reacted. Quite impressed by how he was doing so far, he let his sudden pride get the better of him as he stood up and grinned at the man, quickly regretting his decision when the other backhanded him so goddamn hard that Sam found himself on the floor again, his head spinning from the impact. Then he was gasping and it was his turn to scream as he received a horrible kick to his ribs, realizing with a bone-chilling feeling that the knife had been knocked out of his hand when he fell, now lying just out of arm’s reach from him.

Noticing the ownerless blade at approximately the same time as he did, Benny quickly dove for it, unfortunately faster than him, and even though Sam’s fingertips were nearly brushing the knife’s hilt, the man brought down his foot on his hand, Sam pretty sure he heard an audible crunch over his own scream of pain. With the blade belonging to Benny now, Sam had no choice but to use the lessons he learned from John, wheezing and wincing as he scurried away and jumped to his feet, turning around just in time to see the man reaching for him. Quickly taking a step back and managing not to trip over his own feet, Sam waited until Benny got close enough, raising the knife and ready to strike, but moments before he could have stabbed the unmoving boy, Sam lifted his leg and did something that resembled a roundhouse kick, hitting the man in the waist. That distracted him just long enough for Sam to clench his good hand, curling his index finger while the rest remained folded inward, then wasted no time as he shot forward and jabbed the bony part of his curved finger right into the hollow of the man’s throat.

Benny made a strangled sound, his eyes going wide as he slapped his hands over his throat, clawing at it as if he had trouble breathing, the blade slipping out from between his fingers as he kept on gasping and choking. Stepping on the knife on the floor and pulling it toward himself, Sam kept his eyes on the man while crouching down and picking it up, an odd smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he raised it, but before he could have thrust it into the softer part of Benny’s temple, he heard a slow clapping sound.

Turning his head toward the sound, Sam watched as the boss kept on clapping for a long moment, before flashing a wide, relatively satisfied-looking smile at the boy. “That was impressive. I wasn’t expecting you to put up such a good show, Sam. Truly, I am positively surprised.”

Sam lowered the knife in his hand, looking from one man to the other. Benny had stopped sounding like some cat about to throw up a hairball, now walking around the room and rearranging the furniture that had toppled over during their little fight, and Nick was still leaning against his desk, looking ever so nonchalant with a pleased smile plastered across his face.

“So…what?” Sam asked after a while, not liking where the silence was going. “Will you let me go now?”

Nick chuckled, shaking his head. “No, of course not,” he answered matter-of-factly, and Sam instinctively tightened his hold on the hunting knife. “But I must say, I like your spunk. Really much so. Selling you off would be such a waste of great potential, don’t you think?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer to that, so he didn’t. Instead, Sam just frowned at the man and took a step back, being as discreet about it as possible as to not cause any suspicion. He still had the knife and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to use it first chance he got. They really shouldn’t have given a scared, and therefore unpredictable, kid a knife. Really not a smart move; but Sam wasn’t complaining.

“What are you thinking, boss?” Benny asked after he was done turning the room back into a presentable state, flopping down into the plush chair and wincing silently as he wrapped a piece of fabric he got who knows where around his punctured hand.

Nick took a deep breath, held it in for a moment as he pursed his lips in thought, then let it out. “First of all, stop bleeding on my chair,” he said, shooting a warning look at the man and his still bleeding thigh, Benny immediately jumping to his feet and pulling a face at the pain the rapid action caused him. Nodding in approval, Nick then looked at Sam, flashing him one of those annoying smiles. “I’m willing to give you a choice. An offer. You can try and keep fighting us, threatening us with your death as we sell you to the sex industry. Evidently, we’d pump you so full of drugs that you wouldn’t be able to go through with any of your brave little threats; but then again, that’s just option number one. Option number two is you working for us.”

“Do what now?” Sam blurted, not sure if he heard that right. He blinked incredulously at the man, but he didn’t seem like he was joking, seriously offering him a job.

“Work for us,” he repeated, shrugging as if offering a job to someone he previously threatened to sell off to sex slavery was something he did on a daily basis. And maybe that was exactly the case. “I’d say that would be a much smarter and a less…painful choice.”

Sam opened and closed his mouth, still in quite a bit of shock, then forced his head to stop spinning and fixed the man with a glare he hoped looked intimidating. “You’re serious?” he asked, and when Nick just nodded, Sam felt his shoulders slouch. “You’re serious. I’m fourteen years old and I don’t know the first thing about being a criminal, much less as smuggler, or whatever your guys are! How do you expect me to work for you? And why would I? You…your men killed my father.”

“Well, I never said that you have to. I am not forcing your hand here, merely offering you a choice. And do not be mistaken,” Nick said, narrowing his eyes at him and, for the first time since Sam laid eyes on the man, he looked like a real criminal boss, “we are not good people. Yes, my men murdered your father, and they did so in cold blood. And you’ll just have to accept that, because that’s just the kind of world we live in, the kind you live in now. So do not mistake my offer for kindness, Sam. I’m a man who likes bringing hidden potential to the surface, but if you were to refuse the job, I wouldn’t lose sleep from selling you in a heartbeat. It’s your choice, but know this—whatever you choose, your life will never be the same again.”

Staying silent for the longest moment, Sam thought. He had no idea what kind of work Nick had in mind for him, but it couldn’t be anything harmless and friendly, he knew that much. And Sam was still more or less under shock, only some hours passing since he went from reading in his warm bed to standing in nothing but a jacket in a murderous gang’s den. How was he supposed to make a rational decision like this? Still, if he thought about it hard enough and considered all the pros and cons, the choice wasn’t that difficult. One door opened to a whole world of rape and his possible death, while the other turned him into a juvenile delinquent, a criminal. Both were horrible, Sam preferring a third option, but there wasn’t one. Nick was right when he said that his life would change, Sam not seeing another option aside from these two laid out in front of him. He swallowed nervously, feeling the pressure get to him.

He didn’t want to choose. He wanted to go home and hide under his blanket, wanted to wake up from this sadistic dream. But no, it was time for Sam to accept that this living nightmare was his life now. He couldn’t close his eyes and wake up in his bed, no matter how much he wished otherwise. He needed to chose, and he needed to do it now, the choice being one of the hardest but, at the same time, easiest decisions he had to make in his entire life.

Glancing around the room, before looking down at the knife in his hand, Sam sighed and felt as if something, some tiny part of him, died inside. Then he raised his gaze to Nick, and nodded. “Alright. I accept your offer. I… I will work for you.”

“Perfect!” He clasped his hands together, a broad smile spreading across his face as he pushed himself away from his desk, then turned to address the other adult in the room. “Benny, take him to your room for now. I will prepare everything for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Sam asked, suddenly afraid that he just made a huge mistake.

Giving him a reassuring look, Nick said, “Yes, you will start as soon as possible. Your size and agility could come in handy for a job we already had planned for tomorrow, so I think it’d be a good idea to let you join our mules. Agreed?”

“Could I refuse…?”

“No, not really,” he stated with a smile. “I’ll let Benny explain the basics of what your job as our newest mule will be, then we’ll go over the details tomorrow. Until then, try not to cause too much trouble. I really wouldn’t like for you to turn into damaged goods before we’d even have the chance to try you out.”

Trying not to shudder too visibly at the man’s warning, Sam gave him a brisk nod, before his eyes caught movement to his right. Benny stepped up to him, not looking that smug or cheery anymore what with the bleeding wounds left there by Sam, though the boy himself was having a hard time keeping a straight face with the pulsing pain in his hand, ankle, and his side. He really hoped that none of his ribs were broken, but since he wasn’t howling in pain each time he took a breath, he guessed he was fine.

“Come on, bud, it’s time to get educated,” he said, snatching his knife out from Sam’s hand and pocketing it with a contemptuous half-smile. Sam hoped he would get to hang onto it for a while longer, but unfortunately, that obviously didn’t seem like it was going to happen.

He let the man guide him out of Nick’s office, Sam glancing back over his shoulder before leaving the room and looking at the man sitting in his large chair and going back to glaring at the jumble of papers on his desk. Then the door shut behind him and they were back in the vast space of the warehouse, lacking any posh decoration, the depressingly gray surfaces darkening Sam’s already crappy mood.

It seemed that while they were in Nick’s office, though, the warehouse had gained a new living specimen, because as Sam followed Benny to the staircase on the left and opposite to the boss’s—who was now Sam’s boss as well—office, he noticed someone sitting in one of the two sofas near the television. Another adult by the looks of it, with chocolate dark skin and a buzz cut, seemingly in the middle of reading a book.

Following his curious gaze, Benny stopped at the bottom of the staircase and smirked. “That’s Raphael. He’s a real serious sorta guy, so you better not rub him the wrong way. Breaking fingers comes easier to him than opening bottles,” he explained. “Though that’s true to all of us.”

“Uh…” was all Sam said, liking this place and the people filled with it less and less. He kept his eyes on Raphael for a while longer, but when the man just continued reading without any sign of him planning on acknowledging Sam’s existence, he looked back to Benny and fidgeted a bit.

The man let out a small chuckle, before motioning for Sam to follow as he climbed the stairs, their steps a series of uncomfortably loud echoes as their feet hit the steel surface. Once reaching the top, Sam noticed three doors at approximately the same distance from each other, all looking freshly painted over with white, which was a striking contrast to the dark gray brick walls surrounding them and the whole interior of the warehouse. Benny walked over to the door in the middle, waiting until Sam was standing next to him before opening it. And again, it looked like the room behind the door didn’t belong to the warehouse, but rather to some modern flat.

It was larger than Sam had expected, the size of a big living room, and as he walked further into the room, he realized that there was even more to it. The floor beneath his bare feet was made of black, wooden tiles, though the walls didn’t change, remaining the same dark brick with the exception of the wide wall opposite of the door, that one littered with the same kind of chain of rectangular windows as the one he saw above the TV. They were much cleaner than the other, the view crystal clear through the glass. There was a round, navy blue carpet in the middle of the room, Sam curling his toes in the surprisingly soft fabric when he stepped on it and took in all the furniture around the room. A single bed on the left, next to some shelves with either books or little trinkets on them, then a light brown clothes cupboard with several drawers at the bottom on the right, on top of which, if Sam’s eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, was an orange and white lifebelt.

“Cozy, ain’t it?” he heard Benny’s voice from behind him as he walked over to the windows, slowly raising his hands and pressing his palms against the cool glass. From here, Sam could see the vast, green and deep golden meadow stretching away toward the forest surrounding it like a thick protective ring, the leafy rows of trees disappearing behind the warehouse and probably continuing for a few more miles. And while as he glanced to the right, all he could see was the green wall of nature, when he trailed his gaze to the other side, Sam couldn’t help but notice how a road managed to separate the world of flora from that of civilization. The smooth asphalt road snaked alongside a long ditch at the edge of the meadow, a series of houses emerging at the other side of the lane, and suddenly, Sam had hope.

He agreed to work for Nick and his people, for now. It didn’t mean that he was just going to roll over and do their bidding, obedient as ever. No, Sam had a hidden agenda, promising himself to escape first chance he got, and for the first time in a long time, he felt at luck. Those houses might just be his golden ticket to freedom and, hopefully, a quick call to the police, which would result in the arrest of his captors.

Lost in the thoughts of his eager escape, Sam flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder, nearly knocking his head against the window as he turned around and stared up at Benny. “I’m sure you have loads of questions, and I also have quite some stuff in need of explaining, so what do you say we get started?” He raised an eyebrow, nodding to the bed, but Sam remained where he was, not really feeling like sitting on someone’s bed who had ripped his clothes off not that long ago.

“Can I use the bathroom first?” he asked, both wanting to stall for time and needing to go. He was actually surprised that he hadn’t pissed himself in fear before, forever thankful to his strong bladder for saving him from a really embarrassing situation and some probable trauma.

Benny regarded him with obvious suspicion, but then just nodded and pointed at a door not far from the wardrobe. “Go ahead. Oh, and don’t you even think about closing the door,” he said, grinning when Sam’s eyes widened. “Can’t have you doing something naughty while I’m not looking.”

“I’m just going to use the toilet; you really don’t need to keep watch over me,” he muttered, but knew immediately that he was fighting a losing battle from the look on Benny’s face.

Shaking his head, the man took a step back, finally leaving Sam’s personal space. “Sorry kid.” He lifted his hands innocently, Sam sighing and walking past him to the door leading to the bathroom.

Once inside, he was reluctant to keep the door open, especially when Benny followed him and leaned against the door frame, watching his every move. The man seeing him naked was one thing, Sam could still more or less recover from that, but him watching as he peed? Hell no. But it wasn’t like he could lock the door with Benny standing in the way like that, Sam having no choice but let his dignity take another blow to the gut as he wandered over to the porcelain toilet, stopping in front of it and gripping the hem of the jacket with slightly shaking hands. At least the toilet was facing the door, so he had his back to Benny; but when he lifted the jacket and stepped closer to the toilet, immediately feeling the man’s burning eyes on his back and bare ass, Sam decided that, nope, he wasn’t grateful to the toilet’s position after all.

It took him a while to relax and empty his bladder, the sound of his urine hitting the water way too loud in the awkward silence, and by the time he was finished and reached over to flush the toilet, his whole face and neck was burning, surely resembling the color of a tomato. Then he walked over to the sink, lowering his head and letting his hair shield a part of his eyes from Benny’s intrusive gaze, Sam looking everywhere but the man. Washing his hands and making sure he took his sweet time while doing so, he noticed his reflection in the mirror above the faucet, his eyes going slightly wide and his lips parting in surprise.

Man, he looked like crap.

His eyes were red from crying and his face was alarmingly pale as his blush disappeared, his dark, chestnut locks that just reached his shoulders at the back now a messy nest on top of his head. And then there was his neck, the abused skin there in a pretty bad condition. Blood was smeared along the wounds, which were thin and not as long as Sam had feared, that much was true, but as he cleaned them with some water, they still stung painfully. Then as he was cleaning them, he also noticed the bruises on his hand; the one Benny had stepped on. A discolored line ran beneath his wet knuckles, dark and nasty, though thankfully it didn’t hurt, Sam only wincing in pain when he experimentally pressed down on it.

He stalled for as long as he could, having no choice but to stop the flow of the cooling water as he heard Benny clear his throat rather impatiently. Turning back to the man, Sam reluctantly walked out of the bathroom with his eyes cast down, refusing to meet the other’s intense stare.

“So, feeling ready to have a chat now?” Benny asked with a grin audible in his voice, Sam raising his gaze as the man strolled over to his bed and sat down, patting the empty spot next to him and flashing the boy an expectant look.

Stopping a few feet away from the bed, he shook his head. “No thanks. But sure, let’s talk… I guess.”

Benny sighed. “Hey, no need to look that terrified,” he said, and when Sam frowned at him, he rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself, then.” He leaned back on his hands, watching the boy who was quickly growing uneasy in the sudden silence, then raised his eyebrows at him. “So tell me, what do you want to know? Ask away.”

Sam had tons of questions in mind, but he decided to go with the simplest one first. “You’re smugglers? What exactly does that mean?”

“Well, just as the name suggests, we smuggle stuff. Move guns and drugs, sometimes people, from one place to another. All of that illegally, of course,” he explained.

“And then you sell it?” Sam asked, finding himself starting to get curious. “Are there people that hire you for that?”

Smiling, he nodded. “Yeah. You see, Nick is the boss of our little gang, but he isn’t our employer. We have many of those, as we are kind of…famous in this sort of business. We get the job done, cleanly and quietly, and then the money rolls in. We don’t exactly sell the stuff we smuggle across borders and other places; we usually just get paid to get them to their destination in one piece.”

“How many of you guys are there…?”

“Five; six if we count Nick,” Benny said. “We used to be seven, but Adam had a little bit of an accident a few months back. Poor guy got his brains blown out after a job went south… Anyway, you’ve met most of the crew. There’s me, obviously, then Raphael, Nick, Crowley—the one with that stupid black suit glued to his body—and Dean. Oh, and Ruby. She’s the only one you haven’t seen yet.”

Sam shuddered, the memory that popped into his head from hearing one of those names unnerving him. “Uh… Dean? Is that the eyepatch guy?”

Benny surprised him by chuckling, before leaning forward and flashing him a cryptic smirk. “Yeah, that’s him. Our youngest member; but even though the boy’s only eighteen, he’s the best among us. Kid’s got a talent for all that spy shit…and murder.”

His eyes widened. “Did he…?”

“No, he wasn’t the one who killed your dad,” he said, his smile suddenly turning somewhat bitter. “That was me.”

“Y-You?” Sam gritted his teeth, clenching his hands into fists, finding it a bit hard not to just lunge at the man and wrap his fingers around his throat. “I’m glad I got to beat you up, then. Shame I didn’t kill you.”

“Hah, yeah, I would imagine you’d be. And about that, the boss man was right, you know?” His leisurely smile was back as he changed the subject, Sam not minding. It kind of made him believe the man was scared of him, which probably wasn’t the case, but he could always hope. Hope, and plot revenge toward this asshole. “You really kicked my ass back there, more so than I would have expected from someone your size.”

Glancing down at the bloody stain on Benny’s pants, Sam couldn’t help but let a slight smirk cross his face. “Hope that taught you not to ever judge a book by its cover.”

The man let out a short laugh, his smile widening into a grin. “Yeah, it sure did,” he said, then suddenly all fun and amusement was gone from his face, Benny furrowing his brow as he leaned on his elbows, which he moved to his knees. “Now, joking aside, we need to talk about tomorrow; your role in particular.”

Sam felt a tight knot in his stomach at the mention of his first job, becoming anxious and chewing on his lower lip as he frowned at the man. “I’m supposed to be a mule, but I don’t even know what that is.”

“Ah, right.” Benny nodded, flashing him a thin smile. “Well, it’s certainly not the animal. A mule is just one of the many nicknames and slangs we give couriers, people we employ to play it safe. The risk of getting caught is always there, no matter how good you are, so using mules to smuggle the goods across borders saves us a lot of trouble.”

“Aren’t you afraid they would reveal your identity to the police if they get caught, though?” Sam asked, a plan already forming in his head.

Benny shook his head. “We never meet face to face when hiring a courier. You’re an exception. Which means,” he said, his voice low and deep all of a sudden, “that you should know, if you do end up getting busted, ratting us out isn’t an option. We know people, more than you could ever imagine, and I would personally make sure that they’d find your mutilated corpse before you’d get the chance to sing.”

The aforementioned plan he was thinking of got discarded in an instant, Sam trying not to let his surprise show on his face and resisting the urge to back away from the serious-looking man. “Okay, I understand,” he said with the most confident voice he could muster, then felt the tension in his shoulders leave when the threatening glint disappeared from Benny’s eyes, the man smiling again.

“As long as you do, we’re golden,” he stated, then straightened up and patted his knees excitedly. “Moving on, let me tell you about tomorrow.” Benny’s smile grew at the look of discomfort Sam gave him, clasping his hands together and interlocking his fingers before continuing. “First off, whenever we use one or several mules for a job, we ourselves never show up, so you’ll be on your own. Well, on your own with two other mules. You don’t have to worry, though—the job is fairly simple, nothing you couldn’t handle as a first timer. All you need to do is smuggle some drugs across the Mexican border. I don’t really know the details of the job, but I do know that you’ll be using a car… Which means that you’ll probably gonna have to swallow.”

“Have to do…what?” Sam asked, not actually sure he wanted to know the answer.

Benny chuckled. “No need to look so spooked; it’s not as bad as it sounds. You see, there are two ways we let our couriers transport the goods. The first is by attaching them to the body, a method usually used when the chances of the mules undergoing an inspection is low. But since you’ll go by car, having the few tons of drugs stuck to your body would be too risky. So this is when method number two comes in, which is swallowing. You’ll have to hide the stuff not on, but inside your body. And before you ask, yeah—getting it out is done with a thorough visit to the men’s room.”

“Oh my god…” He couldn’t stop himself, his mouth already moving before his mind registered he was speaking, but Sam didn’t care how shocked he must have been looking. He was too busy gaping at Benny, the man simply grinning and surely enjoying the alarm etched onto the boy’s face. “But how? I don’t get it, it’s… Couldn’t swallowing drugs kill me?”

“Sure it could,” Benny stated with a shrug. “But as long as the balloons don’t rip, you’ll be just fine.”

“Balloons?”

“Yeah, we need something to put the drugs in and keep them clean, after all. You won’t be swallowing the drug itself, but little balloons filled with the stuff,” he explained, looking all satisfied with himself when he was done.

That piece of information didn’t bring any sort of relief to Sam, though. Quite the contrary; he was having a hard time keeping his cool, a bit surprised he didn’t start freaking out yet. So his job was to swallow little packets of some sort of drug, then literally shit them out. Perfect, Sam was looking forward to working for these madmen more and more. He was already thinking of the worst case scenario, nervously playing with his fingers as he imagined those balloons or whatnot ripping and filling his system with so much of the stuff he’d die of drug overdose.

Noticing his agitation, Benny reached out and patted his arm with more force than necessary. “Hey, those things don’t rip that easily, you know? As long as you don’t start doing barrel rolls or receive some heavy blows to the stomach, those little packages will remain nice and sealed in your belly,” he said somewhat reassuringly, poking Sam’s abdomen and causing the more than a little anxious boy to back away, this time not even trying to stop himself.

“Uh, y-yeah, okay.” Sam faked a thin lipped smile, not knowing what to do with his own hands so he just let them hang aimlessly at his sides as he stared at a random spot on the bed. He was seriously dreading tomorrow now.

“Alright then,” Benny said, suddenly standing up from the bed, “so any more questions, or are we good?”

He couldn’t come up with anything right now, and since he knew that asking the man if he could go on a stroll outside would probably not be welcomed nicely, Sam shook his head.

“Fantastic.” Flashing a quick smile his way, Benny turned away and walked over to the door leading back into the large interior of the warehouse, halting when he reached it and looking back at Sam. “Hey, you hungry? I can’t really let you out of this room, you see, but I can bring up some food if you want.”

Frowning, Sam moved a hand to his stomach. The thought of food hadn’t even crossed his mind ever since this freak show of a nightmare started, but now that Benny mentioned it, he was feeling a bit peckish. And no matter how uncomfortable the thought of accepting food from these people made him feel, Sam knew he couldn’t starve himself forever, so after a long silence, he forced the words out of his suddenly dry mouth.

“Yes… Thank you,” he said, hoping that maybe if he was polite enough, they wouldn’t hurt him that bad when he’d try to escape. Because the plan to run to the nearest building first chance he got might have been put on hold, but it was still going to happen. He had already promised that to himself, rather risking getting caught than rotting away in here.

“Alright,” came Benny’s answer, the man nodding with a slight smile as he opened the door. “Stay put then, will you?” he said, though with him locking the door as soon as he disappeared behind it, Sam didn’t think he really had any other choice.

He thought of looking for a weapon while Benny was gone, but aside from a razor in the bathroom and something that looked like a stick with four horizontal blades on it, he couldn’t find anything useful. The razor was way too tiny and the weird stick thing was painfully obvious, so after a few more minutes of searching, Sam gave up on obtaining anything he could use to inflict some pain on the man, especially when he heard the door being unlocked.

Benny returned with a plate in his hands, on which sat a surprisingly edible-looking sandwich, Sam hesitating only a moment before taking the glass plate when it was offered to him. It tasted good, Sam not noticing any signs of it being poisoned so he quickly wolfed it down, licking his lips and picking up the leftover crumbs from the plate when he was done.

“Damn kid, you’re like a vacuum.” Benny laughed, ruffling Sam’s hair as he took the empty plate from his hands and put it on the dark oak bedside table.

Shuddering and quickly fixing his hair, Sam scooted away when the man joined him on the bed, but thankfully he didn’t try to follow him. He did keep his eyes on the uneasy boy for a lot longer Sam would have liked, but then he was looking away, whatever that weird moment was gone, Benny moving away from the bed and walking back to the door.

“Get some sleep,” he suggested, those being his last words before he left Sam alone in the room yet again. Honestly doubting that that was going to happen anytime soon, he decided to just sit there quietly for a while, letting himself get lost in his thoughts.

Sitting on the bed and leaning against the slightly uncomfortable brick wall behind his back, Sam wondered if he was going to die. Not just from the job, though he couldn’t deny that the possibility of his untimely death did increase now that he had to start swallowing drugs. So while that also made his stomach lurch in a nauseating anxiety, what really worried him was his future in general. No matter what he chose to do, his imminent death was always hanging thick and threatening in the air, the reaper breathing down his neck whether he chose to stay or escape. And while he knew that staying wasn’t even supposed to be an option, he had to realize that running away might cost him more than staying put. Sam didn’t want to die. He threw threats of taking his own life here and there, convincing both himself and Nick that he was serious, but now that the panic and the anger had died down in him, Sam wasn’t so sure anymore. He didn’t know if he could even do it, in the first place; if he was brave enough to slit his own throat when push came to shove. The idea scared him more than he’d liked to admit, and he could feel the tears of frustration well up in his eyes, Sam quickly squeezing them shut and willing them away. He didn’t want to cry, even if the situation was pretty much asking for it.

Once he had more or less calmed down, Sam took a deep breath, letting it out as a shaky sigh as he tilted his head back and gazed up at the ceiling. He let his eyes follow the metal air duct that stretched across one of the corners, wishing he could pull a James Bond kind of stunt and escape through one, but then shook his head and smiled to himself. It was a sad, bitter smile, filled with all his worries and hopelessness, quickly disappearing from his face.

Deciding that it was no use getting himself worked up, such forlorn thoughts a one-way road leading to depression, he ran his hand through his shaggy hair and sighed again. For now, he’d just focus on surviving the job, worrying about things one step at a time. Yeah, that would work, was a much better idea than breaking down in tears and wallowing in self-pity.

“Alright Sam Winchester, you can do this,” he muttered, nodding to himself and already feeling a bit better. He had already proved it to himself that he could stand his own in a fight, so kicking the rest of the gang’s butts should be child’s play. Slowly but surely, that’s how he was going to carry out his escape plan, maybe even play along and gain their trust before striking.

And then he was smiling again, this time for real, because he knew that his plan was going to work. It had to work, Sam refusing to think of anything negative now, already excited for the next few days in a way, couldn’t wait to carry out his ingenious plan.

It was time for him to act like a real survivalist, the kind his father raised him to be.

 


	4. Swallow Your Pride

 

Turns out, when they said the job would be tomorrow, they really just meant later today.

Sam thought he wouldn’t be able to get any sleep, not remembering when he laid down on Benny’s bed and fell asleep, but when got shaken away by the man’s hand on his shoulder, he knew he must have gotten some shut-eye. He didn’t really feel like it, though, now feeling even more tired than before, and having some trouble keeping his eyes open as he watched Benny place a stack of clothes on the foot end of the bed.

“Here, got these for you,” he said, stepping away from the bed and motioning to the clothes. “Hope they fit.”

Sitting up and letting the blanket—which he also had no clue how it got on him—fall into his lap, Sam regarded the clothes suspiciously, before looking up at Benny. “Thanks…I guess.”

The man nodded. “You’ll get more if the job goes well. Now, you’ve got ten minutes to get dressed, maybe take a shower if you’re quick, then I’ll be back to take you to Nick. He’s got a few things in need of explaining before we drop you off at the car.”

It took a moment for those words and their meaning to sink in Sam’s tired mind, but when they did, he was kicking off the blanket and climbing out of the bed, staring at Benny with slightly wide eyes. “Wait, what? I have to do it now?!”

“Well, yeah,” he stated with a shrug, a half-smile stretching his lips. “So you better not screw up.”

Blinking incredulously, Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Benny was already heading back to the door, telling him to hurry up before locking it behind himself.

He gaped at the white door for a second, then shifted his eyes to the pile on the bed instead, walking over to the clothes and picking up the shirt on top of the pile. It was a red and blue checked shirt, and sure enough, it seemed to match his size. Under it was a pair of blue jeans and black boxer briefs, along with black socks and gray walking shoes on the floor. Sam glanced from the clothes to the jacket hanging from his body, and he couldn’t deny that he was rather relieved that he would finally get to wear some normal clothes instead of someone’s way too big jacket. So without hesitation, he unzipped the jacket and tossed it on the bed, reaching for the boxers when he paused. Casting a glance at the door leading to the bathroom, he wondered if he should take a quick shower like Benny had suggested, and when he raised one of his arms and smelled himself, Sam pulled a face and decided that, yep, he definitely needed that shower.

Gathering the clothes and the shoes in his arms, he shuffled over to the door, opening it with his elbow, then placed them on the lid of a laundry bin, before shutting the door. There was no lock on it, so he made sure to be as fast as possible when he turned on the shower and grabbed the body wash, thankful that Benny had a great taste in hygiene products. He thought of washing his hair as well, but that would have taken extra time, so Sam settled for rubbing the minty liquid soap across his skin instead, hissing a bit when he cleaned his neck. He parted his lips and stuck out his tongue, letting the water droplets land on the wet flesh, then opened his mouth wider and rinsed his mouth. Then when he was done washing his body, he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a fluffy-looking towel hanging from a steel rack, drying himself as best he could, before pulling on his new black boxers.

He was in the middle of buttoning his pants when the door to the bathroom opened, Sam stifling the surprised yelp that threatened to escape him when he looked up and saw Benny standing in the doorway. He had a dark green jacket in his hands, Sam barely managing to catch it when the man threw it at him.

“You ready?” he asked from the still half-naked boy, who quickly pulled on his shirt along with the jacket he received, then stepped into the shoes with the soft socks already on his feet, before nodding. “Great, then follow me.”

Sam did as he was told, walking out of the bathroom and after Benny. They left the room behind, its silence quickly falling away as they stopped on the catwalk, sounds of loud conversations bouncing off the walls of the vast interior of the warehouse. Looking around while Benny busied himself with locking the door behind them, Sam wandered over to the railing and wrapped his fingers around the cool steel, gazing down into the makeshift living room of the large building. The sounds came from the television, which was turned on and in the middle of showing a fight between a man and a woman, the latter angry and accusing the man with some rather nasty stuff. He also noticed two people sitting on the couch facing the flat screen TV, Sam immediately recognizing one of them as Crowley from his full-on black attire, but needing to lean forward and squint to get a better look at the other one.

Then that person must have felt Sam’s eyes on him, because in the next moment he was looking up, their eyes meeting, and Sam felt the blood drain from his face. It was Dean, the boy that had managed to scare the living hell out of him, and even now, as he watched the other’s lips curl into a mischievous grin, he could feel his heart rate go from normal to crazy in a matter of seconds. He swallowed nervously, the boy’s eye that wasn’t covered by the black eyepatch burning a hole in his face, Sam unable to take his intense gaze after a while and quickly turning away, finding Benny watching him with a smirk when he did.

“Scary pirate, ain’t he?” the man joked, his smirk turning into an amused chuckle when Sam shuddered.

“What’s with the eyepatch?” he asked curiously and more than a little uneasily, not daring to look back at the boy he just knew was still watching him.

Benny shook his head. “That’s a story for another day, kid. Just know that Dean there doesn’t really need that other eye of his anymore,” he said, then turned around and began walking down the stairs, leaving Sam to follow him, which he did after a moment.

They walked outside, going out the same sliding door they used when Benny brought him inside. Sam blinked rapidly before narrowing his eyes aching from the sudden brightness outside, noticing several black vans that he must have missed before, all parked near the door with the exception of one, which was waiting for them at the far right. Nick stood next to the open doors of the car, flashing Sam a small smile as they walked over to join him.

“How are you feeling, Sam? Excited?” he asked when they were all standing next to the car, Sam starting to feel the first signs of fear when he saw Benny give him a brief two-finger salute before just walking back to the warehouse and leaving him alone with Nick.

Looking back at his boss, he didn’t even try to appear confident as he said, “Not really.”

Still smiling, Nick reached over and patted his shoulder. “Don’t let your emotions get the better of you, young Skywalker,” he said, before pulling his hand away and fishing a white latex glove out of his pants pocket, Sam frowning at the thing when he held it up. “So I know that Benny told you most of what’s going to go down today, but let me break down the details for you. This car will drop you off at a spot where you’ll meet the two other couriers. There will be another car waiting for the three of you there, filled with your fake passports and the drugs,” Nick explained, then shook the glove in his hand. “The cocaine will be inside the fingers of some latex gloves like this, which have been cut off and sealed. There’s also a map in the car, the public toilet you’ll have to use marked there in red. And really, all you need to do is swallow as many of those little latex balloons as you can, then once they’re out, wash them and put them in the plastic bag waiting in the toilet tank. Not that complicated, right?”

Sam wanted to laugh and tell the man to do it himself if he thought it wasn’t so bad, but not feeling like getting strangled for a stupid comment, he just nodded.

“Great. Well, good luck.” The man stepped out of the way and motioned toward the passenger seat, its door open and inviting Sam in. He really didn’t want to climb into the van, but having no other options, he reluctantly made his way to the door and took a seat. He barely had time to get a look at the driver, a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard and a dirty blue cap, before a burlap sack got thrown over his head. Sam gasped in shock, immediately going to claw at the hands securing the bag around his neck, but then stopped when he heard Nick’s voice coming inches away from him. “Relax, this is just precaution. Can’t let you know where we are, after all.”

He was pretty sure that a simple blindfold would have been just as useful as a freaking sack, but instead of voicing his opinion, he just grunted and let Nick adjust the hessian bag until he was satisfied. Then he heard the sounds of the door getting shut and the engine starting, Sam feeling his nervousness growing and multiplying when the car began moving. He gulped nervously, twiddling some stray strings of the coarse material between his fingers with one hand, the other clenched tightly in his lap, his nails digging into his sweaty palm and helping to calm him down, but just a bit. He couldn’t see anything aside from the brown sack in front of his eyes, only the sunlight managing to pass through the thick burlap, illuminating it before letting it fall back into the shadows each time the glaring sun appeared and disappeared from behind tall buildings. Sam couldn’t distract himself by listening to anything, either, as not only was the radio quiet as a church mouse, but the van was driving silently as well, seemingly trying to make as little noise as possible on purpose. And then things took a turn for the worse when the dense, musty smell of the bag became too much for Sam’s nose and he sneezed; in the bag. Without the ability to blow his nose.

Yes, things were really looking perfect.

When they finally stopped, after a painstaking amount of time, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket was the first thing Sam did as soon as the sack was removed from his head. It was quite disgusting, but he couldn’t see any tissues in the car, and he wasn’t about to ask for one from the guy who looked like some drunk trucker that spent his Friday afternoons playing whack-a-mole with humans instead of moles.

“Walk to that car. Don’t wander… I’ll be watchin’”, the man said in a gruff voice, pointing at a white hatchback sitting alone in a large parking lot not far from where they stopped.

Nodding, Sam opened the door and quickly left the van, relieved to be out of the uncomfortably warm enclosed space. He then began walking toward the other car already waiting for him, glancing from side to side and feeling his nerves go into a frenzy the closer he got to it. Muttering a silent mantra in his head, Sam peeked through the windows once he had reached the car, then walked around it once, but found nothing and no one. He was about to go back to the van still parked by the edge of the parking lot when another van—this one a brilliant silver—pulled up next to the open area, its sliding door revealing two men the age of young adults.

He stood still as he watched them stroll over to the hatchback. They exchanged a look, before scowling down at Sam, the man with brown dreadlocks folding his arms and stepping forward. “Really? A kid?”

Trying not to be offended but failing horribly, Sam returned their frowns, glaring at them both. “You’ve got a problem with my age?” he snarled, pleased to see when the man backed away with his hands held up in mock surrender.

“No, whatever. As long as you don’t screw up, I wouldn’t care even if you were a toddler,” he remarked, then turned to the other guy, who had tanned skin, short blond hair and strikingly amber eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”

“You said it,” the man agreed, his voice carrying a slight Brazilian accent, before fishing out what appeared to be car keys from his pocket and popping the trunk open. Inside were two black plastic baskets, one of them small and holding three paper envelopes, and the other much bigger and filled with the drug.

“Pablo Fernández,” dreadlock guy read aloud from the passport he pulled out from one of the envelopes, before putting it back and handing it over to the other man. Then he did the same with the remaining two, Sam taking and opening the envelope that got shoved into his hands.

Furrowing his brow, he stared at his own picture on the passport, wondering how the hell they managed to find one, then realized that those people had broken in his home which happened to possess some of his pictures along with his ID card, so yeah, maybe it shouldn’t have been that surprising. Then he couldn’t help but groan when he saw the name they gave him. He never liked the name Charlie.

“So what did you guys get?” the man who was now Pablo asked as he stuffed the envelope in the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Bernard Bates. What kind of shitty name is that?” dreadlock Bernard grumbled.

“I’m Charlie Holt,” Sam mentioned, sliding his own envelope filled with his new identity in his pocket, then felt a wave of dreadful anxiety when he looked back at the car and saw the men reaching into the other basket, pulling out one little balloon after the other and just swallowing them like it was the easiest thing in the world.

He waited for the longest moment, his body frozen and nailed to the ground, until he noticed one of the men giving him a questioning look; so Sam forced his limbs to move, to move closer to the truck and pick up a balloon from the pile. It wasn’t big, only filled with a small amount of cocaine, but it was way larger than your average pill and Sam had no idea how he was supposed to swallow it without chocking. Those two made it seem so easy, but he had trouble getting simple painkillers down his throat, and he always had water aiding him with those. Still, he couldn’t just wait for these men to take care of all of them, as apparently Nick made sure to pack enough of the damned balloons so that a third person’s stomach would be essential.

He really, really didn’t want to do it though.

Opening his mouth, Sam did his best to calm down and think happy thoughts as he lowered the balloon on his tongue, then closed his eyes and swallowed. And then he immediately began choking. His eyes flew open and he doubled over, spitting the thing out, which tore as he accidentally stepped on it.

Heaving and still gagging, he slowly raised his eyes to find Pablo and Bernard giving him a strange look, the latter just shaking his head. “Nice, that one’s coming out of your paycheck,” he said, then sighed and picked up another drug filled balloon. “Look, you need to put it to the very back of your throat, let it drop and swallow like that,” he explained, tilting his head back and pushing his hand in his mouth, Sam cringing when all his fingers disappeared, then reappeared without the tiny bag between them. “See?”

“O-Okay…” he mumbled, still feeling like there was something stuck in his throat and really not liking it, but picked up another balloon nonetheless, because he had to get at least one inside him. Following Bernard’s example, Sam took a deep breath and tilted his head back, opening his mouth wide and placing the latex ball as far back as possible, then let go of it and swallowed instantly afterward. His eyes widened and he felt the drug as it slid down his gullet, felt it until it went all the way down, shuddering at the odd and just disturbing sensation. He was surprised how easily it went down, though, now capable of swallowing them much faster and easier than before.

In the end, he managed to swallow eight of them, while the other two had at least twice as many of the stuff sitting snugly in the stomach. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to mind, even going as far as competing against each other to see who could get the most balloons down. Sam wasn’t sure that was a good idea, or even safe, but he didn’t say anything, just glad that he didn’t have to force any more of the weird tasting latex down.

“Alright, you get in the trunk,” Bernard told him after all the drug was gone, motioning to the large space in the back of the car. “It’s a two-door car, but you should be able to squeeze in there, right?”

“Yeah, it’s…big enough, yeah,” Sam said with a nod, then moved the now empty baskets out of the way before climbing in the trunk, looking back just in time to see the lid close and get locked behind him.

He couldn’t feel them in his stomach like he thought he would. The balloons, he thought they would make him feel like he ate too much, like his belly was filled with way too much food, that it would maybe even make it look boated. But none of that was happening, and it wasn’t even hurting, which was the least he expected. It felt unnaturally normal, but that wasn’t going to fool him. Sam knew it was there, even if he couldn’t feel it, knew that his stomach was filled with drugs hidden in latex that could rip and tear at any moment, killing him.

So he stayed put, moved as little as possible after kneeling down at the front of the trunk and placing his hands on the seats, watching as Pablo slid behind the steering wheel and Bernard flopped down into the passenger seat, immediately leaning forward and opening the glovebox. He pulled out a map, probably the one Nick told Sam about, and unfolded it, before showing it to the other man while tapping his index finger on the red X drawn on the paper.

Pablo nodded his understanding. “That should take us a few hours. Buckle up,” he said with a small smirk, then started the engine and drove out of the parking lot.

Sam stayed in his kneeling position until his legs began to feel numb, so he sat down with his back pressed into the front seats after a while, frowning as he felt like millions of tiny evil bees were stinging his legs as he stretched them. He was thankful when he heard the low tune of the radio, which soon became louder as someone turned up the volume, but Sam didn’t mind. Listening to music was thousand times better than sitting in silence, after all. He moved a hand to his stomach and clutched it nervously, then decided to stop thinking and worrying, and just gazed out of the rear window instead. Feeling the rumble of the car driving where he sat, Sam watched as they left other cars behind, big and small buildings gradually falling away to reveal wider and longer roads, and then they were on a highway, Sam watching as the view from the window changed each time they took a turn to the left or right. After a while, he got bored of the rainbow sea of cars and just closed his eyes, folding his hands on his lap and trying to relax, to let the music turn into a lullaby. He was still tired, barely getting a few hours of shut-eye, so it wasn’t long before he could feel himself drifting off to sleep, going in and out of consciousness when the car made large turns, nearly succeeding in knocking Sam off-balance each and every time. He never found himself sprawled across the floor though, always waking up before he could’ve faceplanted the carpeted floor of the trunk, but after one really close call, he decided to just lie down and curl into a ball on the floor instead.

He slept through the drive, only getting woken up once when they stopped for a piss break, however Sam just waved them off, mumbled something incomprehensible, then was closing his eyes and going back to sleep. Thankfully, he didn’t have any nightmares, sleeping dreamlessly until the very moment he couldn’t anymore, because a hand was shaking him awake again, Sam about to give a piece of his mind to whoever dared to wake him, when he noticed where they were.

Pushing himself into a sitting position, Sam looked out the windows, immediately feeling the anxiety that had died down while he was asleep showing its claws, scratching away at his insides and making it pretty hard to breathe normally. The car had stopped, was standing in line along with hundreds of other ones, all waiting in front of the wide building that was the border, yellow and white columns separating some of the serpentine lines. Sam counted five cars in front of them, then they were moving and there were only four left, his pulse drumming in his ear as the cars kept falling away.

“Okay, so the story is that me and Pablo there are friends,” Bernard explained as he turned back in his seat to look at Sam, who hoped he didn’t look as freaked as he felt. “And we’re taking you to my sister, who’s your mom. Her name is Cindy. I like the name Cindy.”

“Why, are they gonna ask us questions?” Sam asked worriedly, not expecting he’d have to rehearse some sort of family act too.

The man shook his head. “Not always, but it’s best to be prepared.”

“Alright guys, quiet,” Pablo said suddenly, flashing them a warning look. “We’re here.”

Sam gripped the front seats as he leaned forward, his eyes widening slightly as they pulled up next to the security cabin, in which stood two inspectors, both wearing a black police uniform and not looking as friendly as Sam had hoped.

“Good morning agents,” Pablo said after he rolled down the window, smiling as he took out the envelope, Bernard doing to same, so Sam quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out the thick paper as well, handing it over to one of the inspectors over Pablo’s shoulder.

“Morning.” The officer flipped through the passports and other identification items in his hands, his eyes never leaving the papers as he asked, “Where to?”

“Torreón,” Bernard announced with a wide smile, then quickly added, “to visit my sister.”

The inspector’s eyes flicked up for a moment as he studied each and every one of them. “Sister? That’s nice.”

He then went back to looking through their papers, Sam wondering where the other agent had gone off to when he heard a noise from behind, his head whipping around and the boy swallowing nervously when he saw the missing inspector standing behind the car, tapping on the window.

“Would you mind if we checked the trunk?” the officer at the open window asked from Pablo, his voice neutral but his eyes suspicious, making Sam wonder if their act was that transparent, that horribly bad.

“Sure thing,” Pablo agreed right away, handing over the keys to the man, who in turn gave it to the other inspector when he walked over to him.

Sam then watched as the border agent strode back to the trunk and opened it, giving the man an unsure smile when they made eye contact. He checked the two empty baskets, then pressed down on several parts of the carpet before finally withdrawing and locking the door, Sam only letting out the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding in once the man was gone.

Then Bernard began coughing uncontrollably.

“Everything okay?” the officer at the window asked with a frown, Pablo quickly flashing him a smile before patting the coughing man’s shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s fine. Just allergic to dust,” he said dismissingly and with a small laugh, his smile wavering when Bernard made some gagging sounds.

“He doesn’t seem to be fine to me,” the man said, raising his eyebrows as he watched them, and Sam knew that was his cue to freaking do something.

So he pulled out the puppy eyes he hadn’t used in a while, trying to sound as worried as he felt, while leaning forward and shaking the man’s shoulder. “Uncle Bernard?! Are you okay? Uncle, please!”

“I knew we should have cleaned the car before going on an hours long trip,” Pablo exclaimed, joining in on the act, and it seemed to be working.

The two inspectors exchanged a glance, then looked at the swarm of cars still waiting behind them, before handing the envelopes back through the window. “Get him someplace with air,” one of them suggested, then walked back into the cabin and pushed a button, making the red and white barrier gate slowly rise in front of them.

“Yeah, thanks!” Pablo stepped on the gas as soon as the barrier was high enough, shooting through the border and cursing as he raised the window.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sam asked, his voice wavering and panicked because no human was supposed to look that purple. Bernard was gagging harshly, clutching and clawing as his throat as his eyes bulged, tears streaming from them and saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth, the man looking like he was going to kick the bucket any second now.

“Well what do you think?!” he shouted, Sam nearly tumbling sideways when the man took a sharp right, flooring the gas pedal. “This fucktard must have eaten something before swallowing the drugs, and now he’s in deep shit. Fuck, some of them must’ve ripped.”

“What? But then he’s going to die! Shouldn’t we do something?” he asked franticly, honestly not having any idea what to do in a situation like this, aside from worrying his ass off while Bernard was looking more and more like that sparkling vampire from Twilight.

Pablo shook his head. “Guy’s already dead meat,” he said, then was cursing again when Bernard began throwing up. He veered the car to the right and stopped it at the side of the road, pushing Bernard out, the man falling out of the car and continuing his heaving and vomiting on the asphalt.

Sam watched with wide eyes as he emptied his stomach, and just as Pablo said, while there were some balloons that seemed to be still intact in the pile of vomit, most of them were torn and missing considerable amount of their contents. He reflexively moved a hand to his own stomach, glad he didn’t eat anything before, but now as he watched Bernard throw up, his body shaken by violent spasms, Sam wasn’t feeling all that positive about his own well being.

“Fuck,” he heard Pablo’s low growl, blinking at the man when he pulled the passenger door closed and just drove off, leaving Bernard behind.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Sam demanded, grabbing at the man’s arm, but he elbowed the boy in the face, sending him falling back on his ass.

“He was gonna get us busted, kid! He threw up the damn package! We can’t let the cops find us there, next to a guy lying in his own vomit,” he yelled, driving like a maniac. “And anyway, he was already a goner. We couldn’t have done anything, he’s gonna die of overdose no matter what.”

“But…” Sam rubbed his face, a deep frown etched onto his forehead as he crawled back and dug his nails in the seats. “Leaving him there like that… It’s just inhuman.”

Glancing at him through the rear-view mirror, Pablo narrowing his eyes and said, “Well we ain’t saints here. We’re smuggling drugs in our bodies for money, if you wouldn’t have noticed.”

Not willingly, Sam would have liked to say, but remained silent instead, slumping down and leaning against the seats instead. He didn’t particularly like Bernard, or whatever his real name was, but he was still a person, a human being. He hadn’t done anything wrong to Sam, and while he might have been a bad guy, he didn’t deserve to go like that. Alone, at the side of some road… That made him wonder if that was what would happen to him too, if he was to screw up. If Nick and his men were to get bored of him, would they beat him up and leave him in a ditch, to die a slow and miserable death? Or would they just sell him like they initially wanted?

They drove in complete silence for the rest of the road, Pablo parking in front of the public toilet marked on the map when they finally reached it.

“I’ll go first,” he stated as he turned around to look at Sam, who just nodded and watched as the man climbed out of the car, before walking over to the building and disappearing behind one of the two doors.

He looked around the empty parking lot, save for their and another car parked not far from the building, wondering who was supposed to collect the drugs they would quite literally shit out, but didn’t have to look for long. A man sitting behind the wheel in the only other car was staring right at him, his eyes dark and cold, and he just couldn’t have looked more like a criminal even if he tried. Sighing, Sam gave him his best glare, before sitting back down and poking his stomach. How was he supposed to do this? Was he supposed to just…force it all out? Cringing and grimacing at the thought, he tried not to worry too much, as it was making his stomach lurch, and he really didn’t want to end up like Bernard.

“Your turn,” Pablo said suddenly as he opened the door, nearly making Sam gasp. Damn, he really needed to calm his nerves.

Getting out of the car, he stood in place for a second, fighting an inner battle before turning to the man now sitting in the car. “How do you…uh, do it?”

Pablo raised an eyebrow. “Really? Just do what you usually do when you take a shit. It’s not that complicated.”

“Okay,” he said with a sigh, scratching the back of his head, then bit down on the inside of his cheek and willed his legs to start moving.

Sam walked to the building, painted white but spotted and gray at several places, swallowing thickly as he grabbed the handle to the men’s toilet and opened the blue door. There was only one toilet in the small space, curiosity getting the better of him as Sam shuffled closer and lifted the lid of the tank, pulling a face when he saw the plastic bag floating in the water, filled with the balloons that—fortunately for Sam’s eyes and memory—have already been cleaned. He placed the lid back, then glanced around, before taking a deep breath and pulling down his pants and underwear, feeling extremely uncomfortable and more than a bit scared.

The next few moments were agonizing. Sam was a hundred percent sure that those were the longest and worst ten minutes of his entire life.

When he was done, and after washing his hands four times with an excessive amount of soap, he waddled back to the car and refused to speak when Pablo asked him how it went with a grin on his face, the jerk. They drove back to the border, this time taking a different one a few kilometers from the one they used to get to Mexico. Sam had always wanted to visit the country, however he never imagined that once he’d get the chance to do it, his visit would consist in him taking a dump and then going back to the US right after. It was rather annoying, Sam doing something close to sulking on the drive back, then stopped and just erased the memory from his head altogether, deciding that if he didn’t want to be scarred even more, pretending that the previous few hours never happened was his best and only option.

He couldn’t fall asleep this time, instead just playing with his fake ID card, ripping the paper envelope to tiny pieces and rolling them into balls, then fooling around with those in utter boredom. Pablo tried to talk to him twice, but Sam really wasn’t in the mood. He has always been the silent type anyway, as it wasn’t like John ever let him socialize with other kids. He had no friends before, and he was sure as hell that he wasn’t going to start making some now, especially not when the only friend materials were sadistic criminals and the people working for them. And the only boy who was still relatively young was a complete psycho, Sam unable to stop the shiver that ran down his spine from the simple thought of Dean, the boy’s eye and wicked grin still haunting and managing to frighten him.

They stopped at a convenience store before reaching the parking lot, Pablo surprising him with the considerate action of buying him a bottle of water, which Sam accepted eagerly and quickly downed half of its content in one go. He didn’t even realize how thirsty he was until he saw the bottle, but the smooth, cool water as it filled his dry mouth and calmed his slightly aching stomach was undoubtedly a feeling he missed and welcomed with open arms. Then he heard the man talking on the phone, telling whoever was on the other end of the line that they were back and ready to be “collected”, and as expected, after a few more minutes of driving, Sam recognized the buildings that led to the open parking lot as he gazed out the window, soon feeling the car pull to a stop.

Pablo removed the key from the ignition and shut off the engine, before turning back and flashing a quick smirk at him. “You’re on your own now, kid. Was this your first time?”

Hesitating for a moment, Sam nodded. “Yeah,” he mumbled. And hopefully the last, he added inwardly.

“Well, for a first-timer, you weren’t that bad,” the man said and gave Sam’s arm a somewhat playful punch, then opened the door and climbed out of the car, before walking to the rear and lifting the lid of the trunk.

“Thanks?” Sam crawled to the back, jumping out of the trunk once reaching the edge, and then dusted off his pants. He wasn’t sure if he should consider that a good or a bad thing, if being more or less good at this smuggling stuff was something he should feel happy about. He guessed that no, this wasn’t like that one time he managed to finish a thick book in only one day and then felt incredibly proud of himself. So to at least not seem rude—though he wasn’t sure why he should appear good-natured to the man—he made his lips curl into something that resembled a thin smile, then looked away and scanned the still empty parking lot.

He didn’t have to wait long before the same black van that brought him here appeared around the corner and rolled to a stop not far from them, just by the raised sidewalk which served as a makeshift boundary to the parking lot. Loving the idea of just leaving both cars behind and running the hell away, but that option proving to be obviously impossible, Sam took a few reluctant steps toward the van waiting for him, before glancing back over his shoulder.

“Go,” Pablo told him, nodding to the black van as he folded his arms and leaned against the car. “I’ll wait for my own ride.”

Sam was hesitant, but he couldn’t stall forever. Letting out a silent and kind of uneven sigh, he made his way to the van and took his place in the passenger seat after yanking the door open. Once inside, the burlap sack that he really didn’t miss got thrown into his lap, the blue capped driver grunting out an order that Sam guessed meant he should put it on. It felt like he was kidnapping himself as he pulled the bag over his head, inhaling its heavy musty stench immediately making him cough and regret breathing altogether.

Yeah, he really didn’t miss this.

The drive back seemed shorter, the car stopping much sooner than he’d have wanted. He needed more time, but when he heard the dreadful sound as the gravel crunched under rubber wheels, then as the car keys clinked as they got turned and withdrawn from the ignition, it became evident that it was once again time to move, to come face to face with his least favorite people in the world.

He waited with removing the sack from his head until someone opened the door to his seat, Sam quickly taking a deep breath once that evil material was gone. Then he saw Crowley of all people walking toward him, immediately feeling like some bodybuilder was doing push-ups on his stomach, it tensing and tightening until he thought he might follow Bernard’s example and throw up.

Still drenched in complete black, the man shot him a look that held a creative mix of contempt and boastfulness, then simply turned on his heel and motioned for Sam to follow. “Boss man wants to see you,” he said as they walked through the open door, Sam not seeing anyone in the makeshift and giant living room as they entered the warehouse.

He hid his hands in his jacket pocket, ducking his head and hoping that maybe if he seemed as small as possible, Crowley would forget he was here and Sam could make his brave and heroic escape. But that wasn’t going to happen, and his heart sank when Nick came strolling out one of the doors, flashing him a wide grin that certainly did not promise anything nice and sweet.

“Sam! Come, let’s sit and talk,” he said and beckoned to the boy, walking over to the purple sofa and sitting in the middle, only scooting a bit to the right when Sam reached the furniture as well. Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he placed them on the edge of the couch cushion as he sat as far away from the man as possible, his thigh pressing against the armrest. He stared at his knees for a long moment, then raised his gaze to Nick when he asked, “So, how did it go?”

Sam scratched at the soft cotton fabric of the couch with his nails in nervousness. “I thought you’d know, since you’re the boss…” he said, not meaning for it to sound so scornful, and feeling the sharp tug of apprehension as the man smiled, but instead of jumping at his throat, Nick just shook his head.

“The man I had stationed outside the public toilet called me. He told me that only you and one of the other couriers went inside, and when he checked the tank, a considerable amount of drugs was missing,” he said, his smile disappearing, and Sam gulped. “But while I do know that, I’d like to hear your explanation. What happened? Where are the rest of the drugs, Sam?”

“We… The man, the one with dreadlocks, he got sick,” he began, feeling insignificant and weak under Nick’s intent, dangerous gaze. “He threw up some of the package and they were ruined. They tore and he…he was dying, but then we drove away and I don’t know, he might be still alive, but I don’t think so because the drugs were inside him and he swallowed so many, and—”

“Slow down.” Nick’s deep and stern voice snapped Sam out of his frenzy, and he immediately stopped babbling, his teeth clanking audibly as he quickly closed his mouth. “Where is he now?”

“We left him. On the side of the road, after we passed the border,” he answered hesitantly, wincing inwardly when Nick glared at him.

“You left him?” he reproached, and Sam nodded. “Do you remember the exact spot?”

He thought for a moment, frowning, and then nodded again. “It was around the third exit, next to a big white and brown building.”

Nick released a long sigh as he pulled out his phone, then began barking commands into the device, his voice shifting between alarmingly polite with a sharp edge to it and angry, yelling irritably at the person on the other end of the line. When he was done and slid the phone back into his pocket, Nick turned to Sam, watching him for a pretty uncomfortable amount of time, the boy clenching his jaw in order to stop himself from reacting. Then he closed his eyes, rubbing them like that, and then asked, “Whose decision was to leave him?”

Sam wasn’t a tattletale, at least he didn’t think of himself as one. That being said, he also wasn’t going to take the blame for something he didn’t do, for someone he didn’t even know, who might have made a practical decision when they left Bernard, but still let a human being continue suffering at the side of some dirty road.

So he only felt a small amount of shame when he said, “Pablo. I mean the other man… I don’t know what his real name is.”

“And why didn’t you stop him?” Nick inquired.

“I tried, at first. But it all happened so fast and he hit me, and then we were already driving away and I couldn’t do anything.” Great, now he was coming up with excuses.

The man nodded, then was silent for a long moment before talking again. “I can’t believe that you were the only one who didn’t make any grave mistakes from the three of you. You know, those two men were what you’d call ‘professionals’. They have both done this many times before, and now one of them is probably dead, and the other will be soon, too,” he said with a small sigh, leaning back in the couch while Sam pressed further into the curved armrest, wishing he could merge with it. “But you, a newbie, did a better work that those two combined. Tell me, how many balloons have you swallowed?”

He wasn’t sure if the amount was impressive or pathetic, knowing how the other couriers took in way more than him, but he hoped it was the former. “Eight,” he stated, thankfully not seeing any glints of disappointment in the man’s eyes as he watched Sam.

“I see. Not bad, but could have done better,” he said, but Sam was okay with that. He was okay with the middle ground; anything that didn’t involve getting humiliated. Then he wasn’t that okay anymore, because Nick was talking again, and his next words made him forget that humans needed to breathe in order to survive. “Well, I’m pleased. Very much so, actually. But since using you as a mule might prove to be too…risky, with you knowing not only my name, but my face, I think you’ll be getting a fast promotion.”

“What does that mean?” he asked, dreading the answer. What kind of promotion could someone like this man be possibly thinking of? Whatever it was, there couldn’t be anything better about it, not in this sort of context.

“Well, let’s see,” Nick said, a smile creeping back onto his face. “First off, you have already proved that you can defend yourself, that you can fight when you have to. Your size and agility is just a bonus. You didn’t screw up on your first job, which is where the majority of people make horrible and stupid mistakes. Then there’s the fact that you aren’t really a mule, as those get paid and have no idea how we look like. They have also never been to our base, live in their own homes. You don’t have a home, and we can’t let you leave, either. So the only logical decision I can think of, after taking all of these facts into consideration, is that you should live here. And since only my men do that…I’m willing to give you a position as a _real_ smuggler. A seat at the big boys’ table.”

Sam thought he had the right for a few moments of silence as he let that sink in, because Nick did not just offer to convert him into an actual, full-blown smuggler.

Oh god he did, didn’t he?

He obviously wasn’t going to accept the man’s generous offer. Hell no. It was bad enough that he had to work as a courier for him, this one job he did already leaving him with some emotional traumas he’d have to suppress for the rest of his life. He didn’t need more of this crap, didn’t want to find out the kind of jobs he’d have to do as a smuggler. Nick’s penetrating blue eyes were staring a hole through him, though, and Sam was breaking out in cold sweat, torn between just going with the flow and accepting it, and flat-out refusing.

Deciding to use a safer approach, he cleared his throat and hesitantly met the man’s icy gaze. “Can I say no…?”

Nick shrugged. “Sure you can,” he said, Sam feeling a weight being lifted from his shoulders, then it all came crashing back down as the man added, “I’d just have to kill you then.”

“Oh,” he remarked smartly. Well of course, Sam should have known that was coming. Join the dark side or die, as per usual.

“You must understand, we have no other choice,” Nick said, sounding too understanding for Sam’s liking. “You know too much. Way too much. So you either get fully converted, no matter your age, which would make sure that you wouldn’t be able to rat us out, or we silence you in another way. And despite your threats of taking your own life, I doubt you’d choose death over my offer. Am I right?”

He didn’t want to say yes, to give his consent to this Devil, but…really, what else could he do? Nick would kill him, there was no doubting that. Sam _would_ end up dead in a ditch unless he accepted the malicious offer, but then there would be no turning back. Once he’d commit several crimes, he couldn’t just tell the police that they forced him to do it all, especially if he’d end up killing someone. God, he really hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But he had to accept that, really, he didn’t have a choice here. Because Nick was right—Sam didn’t want to die. Just like he expected, all those threats were empty. He was too much of a coward to go through with it, and he hated himself for that, despised himself for being so damn weak, because he just simply couldn’t.

The only hope he had left was that maybe he could escape before they’d make him do something he’d never want to, but for that, he’d need to wait for the right moment and execute some heavy-duty ninja tricks without getting spotted, which didn’t sound easy. But anyway, he could worry about his future escape later. Right now, he had bigger things to concern himself with, for example agreeing to a new and very much unwanted life.

Swallowing around the nervous lump in his throat, and since it’s not like he had any other option at this point, Sam nodded with downcast eyes. “You’re right…”

“So is that a yes?” Nick asked eagerly.

Without looking up, Sam said, “Yes.”

“Good,” he heard the man’s satisfied answer, heard as he clapped his hands together, then felt a hand grab and squeeze his shoulder, Sam looking up at the sudden touch. “I’m glad I won’t have to kill you, Sam. I really am,” he said, then turned his head to look at something behind Sam, the boy following his gaze and feeling himself shudder as he noticed Crowley standing next to the wall.

Was that guy here the whole time?

“Crowley, take him to Adam’s empty room, will you?” Nick said, removing his hand from Sam’s shoulder as he got up and walked back to the same door he came out of before. “It will be the kid’s from now on.”

“Are you sure about this, boss?” Crowley asked with an unsure smile, glancing from Sam to Nick. “I mean he is just a kid. Might slow us down.”

The boss stopped in front of him, staring at the shorter man and raising his eyebrows. “Do you know me as someone who makes mistakes?”

“No,” he said right away, shaking his head. “No, no of course not. That’s not what I meant.”

“Well whatever you meant, don’t,” Nick said, his voice low and relatively toneless, aside from the hidden danger in it, which Crowley must have sensed because he was backing away and nodding rapidly.

“Yeah, of course, sorry,” he gabbled, waiting until the man continued toward the door and disappeared behind it, before turning to Sam, who was still sitting on the sofa and would have much rather stayed right there than follow Crowley, but when he shot him a warning glare, he reluctantly peeled himself away from the soft cushions. “Walk faster,” Crowley barked as they took the stairs on the right.

Sam walked before the man, continuing once he reached the catwalk, but when he heard Crowley’s footsteps come to a halt, he turned around and saw him standing in front of the first door, the set of doors on this side of the warehouse painted the same white as the ones on the other. He wandered back just as the man opened the door which apparently wasn’t locked, only pushing it open but not going inside.

“So I suppose this is yours now,” he mentioned as Sam stepped into the room.

It was the same size as Benny’s room, with the same series of windows running across the wall facing the entrance and the same door that presumably led to the bathroom, though instead of being on the right, this one was situated on the left side. Aside from those, the rest was different. Instead of wood, the floor was completely carpeted, save for a small rectangular, white tiled area at the door. Sam guessed that was where the shoes came off, but right now he was busy looking around to remove them. The thin but soft, berber carpet was a rather pretty match to the charcoal gray brick walls, with its deep indigo blue color. The bed covers were blue as well, at least the polka dots at the bottom of the white blanket, and the sides of the pillow, were a dark turquoise. The single bed itself was pushed against the right wall, on which was a wide, rectangular black shelf, filled with books and an empty snow globe. Right behind the headboard, and sandwiched between the windowed wall and the bed, was a beige wardrobe with a vertical mirror on one of its doors. Opposite it, against the wall on the left, was a wide chest of the same beige drawers, on top of which lay a great amount of dust, along with a digital clock with sky blue numbers, a transparent vase filled with colorful rocks, and a patterned tissue box.

Walking across the room, Sam quickly grabbed some of the latches on the window and turned them, opening as many as he could and sighing once he felt the slight, cool draft caress his skin and waft his silky hair. Then when he turned back, he found Crowley still standing outside, the man’s dark eyes studying the room before locking with Sam’s.

“The wardrobe is empty, and so are the drawers. Aside from Adam’s books and some stuff in the bathroom, there ain’t anything of his here, so you go ahead and get cozy,” he said, a wicked smirk crossing his face as he narrowed his eyes. “But not too cozy. I have a feeling you won’t last long.”

Sam knew it probably wasn’t a good idea, but now that he was officially one of these assholes, he decided to give acting a bit more like a man a try. “How about you stop threatening me? I mean if you want to fight me, go ahead; though I doubt Nick would be happy once you’ll go crying back to him,” he sneered, glad his voice didn’t waver and remained nice and sharp, dripping with venom as he glared at the man.

Crowley scoffed. “Oh, you think you could kick _my_ ass, kid? I know what you did, how you managed to land a few pathetic hits on Benny, but that buffoon is nothing compared to me. You really wouldn’t want to fight me,” he told Sam, the smirk on his face turning into a grin. “I might accidentally snap that brittle neck of yours.”

“And yet, all you do is bark, but never bite.” Sam raised an eyebrow at the suddenly glaring man, then realized that maybe he shouldn’t have said that as Crowley began closing in on him with bloodthirst in his eyes.

But then he stopped in the middle of the room, Sam already standing with his back pressed into the windows and wondering how quick he could land a brutal kick to the man’s nuts; however he never got to find out, because Crowley was clenching and unclenching his fists before turning around and marching back to the door.

Pausing in the doorway, he looked back over his shoulder and shot a fiery glare at Sam. “Making me into an enemy isn’t a smart choice. Don’t continue like this, or we’ll really have a problem…”

And then he was gone, shutting the door behind himself and leaving Sam alone in the room. In his room.

He stood still for a while, just watching the door for any signs of it opening and letting another unwanted visitor in, but when nothing happened, he let out a sigh and walked over to the drawers.

“Great,” he mumbled to himself, trailing his index finger across the surface of the furniture, the digit coming off dusty as he raised it to his eyes. Wiping his finger on his pants, Sam pulled out a tissue from the box on top of the chest and dusted it off, looking for a bin once he was done, but of course there wasn’t any. He didn’t really want to start littering already, so he walked to the bathroom, planning on simply flushing the dirty tissue.

Crowley was right, he noted inwardly, as he walked into the bathroom. It didn’t take long for him to find the light switch that was right next to the door, and once the room was bathed in the fluorescent light coming from the lamps on the ceiling and above the mirror, he immediately spotted a steel bin under the sink. Quickly discarding the tissue in it as he stepped on its small pedal and raised the lid, Sam looked around the room and at the many hygiene products scattered in it. The hand soap looked usable and smelled great, the mouthwash was half empty but seemed like it could come in handy, and neither the body wash nor the shampoo was disgusting, so in all things considered, he got himself a good room. He obviously wasn’t going to use the towels, though. Not until they got properly washed, which reminded him of how he rubbed Benny’s towel across his skin without a second thought before, drawing a revolted shudder from him. He really hoped he wasn’t going to catch anything from that.

He walked out of the bathroom and over to the bed, stroking the smooth surface of the blanket before climbing on top of it. Standing on his knees, he reached up and took off the object that fascinated him the most ever since he noticed it on the shelf, trapped between the thick books. He sat down, placing the pillow behind his back as he leaned against the wall, then kicked his shoes off and crossed his legs as he studied the snow globe in his hands. He has seen trinkets like this before, usually in the TV when the characters visited souvenir shops, but they were always filled with something. A building, a cozy gingerbread house, trees or a snowman—anything. This one only had the liquid and the fake snow inside, completely hollow and devoid of any ornaments.

Sam turned it in his hands, but there was nothing written on the bottom or around it either. Wondering why someone would have an empty snow globe in their room, he shook the object, watching as the tiny white flakes jumped to life, surging up and then swirling around wildly, before slowly sinking to the bottom of their glass cage, asleep once again. He suddenly had a thought, comparing himself to the snow. How they, no matter how much they tried, how many times their world got turned upside down by an outside force, could never escape their prison; how they didn’t really belong anywhere, lost in an empty globe instead of the usual ones with a country’s name towering inside the dome. Like Sam, they had no real home, just constantly drifting in hopes of finding a place to belong, reaching out to freedom that was so close, yet so far away, stopped over and over again by an invisible wall whenever they got close enough.

Blinking and shaking his head, Sam let out a deep sigh and put the snow globe on the bed. It was true—he didn’t really have a home anymore. He couldn’t possibly call this room his, or this warehouse his new home. It would never be like that, and he would never really belong with these people, or become a part of their world. He could try, he could fake it and pretend all he wanted, but he would never really be able to fit in here. Not like he could do it anywhere else, what with the slight antisocial disorder he had going for him thanks to John.

And now thinking of his dad, his dead father, he was feeling sad again.

Great; he wondered if his mind and heart were doing this on purpose, deciding to lead some twisted sadomasochistic lifestyle without Sam’s consent.

Groaning, he rubbed his temples. He was too young for this distressing shit, and he really didn’t want to start getting wrinkles. So he grabbed the globe and stuffed it back into the shelf, then stayed on his knees for a bit as he trailed his fingers along the book covers, glad that Adam was a bookworm. He wondered which one to try first, humming to himself as he let his eyes glide across the hardcovers, then felt a small smile curl his lips when he spotted a Stephen King book. He quickly tugged it out, flopping back on the bed and grinning as he opened the book on the first page. It was the second book of **The Shining** , this one called **Doctor Sleep** , and Sam couldn’t have been happier to have found this, because he’s been wanting to read it so much ever since he finished the first one.

Before he could have even finished reading the first page, he heard the door to the room open, startling a relaxed Sam so much that he nearly yelped as he slammed the book shut.

Benny raised his eyebrows at the boy, smiling at his reaction, then quickly scanned the room with a pair of curious, dark blue eyes, before looking back at Sam. “I see you found the books. Getting familiar with your new room, huh? Like it?”

He pressed his fingers into the cover and gave the man a brisk nod. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

“Glad you think so,” he said, then pushed the door all the way open and pointed with his thumb behind his back. “We just had lunch. Want some?”

“Um…” He hesitated, glancing at the clock on the drawers and, sure enough, it was already half past one in the afternoon. But he wasn’t feeling hungry, the thought of food actually making him sick right now, as his stomach was still aching, the bottle of water helping a bit, but not completely. Courtesy of the latex balloons, he guessed. So he shook his head and pulled his knees up to his chest, looking back at Benny through his bangs. “No, thanks. I’m not really hungry.”

“Suit yourself then,” the man said with a shrug, then took a quick look back over his shoulder, his smile reappearing when their eyes met again. “Well, if you do get hungry, the kitchen is the second door to the left. Just facing Nick’s office, you can’t miss it.”

Sam nodded. “Alright, I’ll…make sure to remember that,” he promised, if only to know where to look for future meals. He wasn’t sure he’d eat anything today, but he also wasn’t going to starve himself.

“Okay. See you when I do.” Benny winked at him, his low chuckle muffled as he closed the door.

So, alone again, he tried not to think of how the rest of the day, or for that matter his whole freaking future, would go. Instead, he went back to the book, letting it pull him into its world and make Sam forget all about his own worries, as he left his life behind and turned into the main character of the papers between his hands, if only for a few hours…

 


	5. Big Bad Wolf

 

Three hours later, and he was already starving.

He continued reading the book, was halfway through it, when he heard and felt his stomach rumble. Pulling a face, he shifted positions, tried lying on it or sitting hunched over while reading. And it did work, for a while. The words distracted him from his growing hunger, Sam beginning to regret turning Benny’s offer down, and when even the freaking main character from the book started eating, well from there it was a one-way road to food. Images of all sorts of meals filled his head, Sam cursing himself as his mind went wild, shoving one mouthwatering image in his face after the other, and he was losing it.

Still, for some reason, he really didn’t want to get out the safety of his room. His stomach kept growling persistently, screaming to be fed, but Sam refused. He’d just have a big breakfast tomorrow, stuff himself full of food then, but for now, he was going to remain in the only place he felt relatively at ease.

However that wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped, not with hunger constantly raking its sharp claws down Sam’s stomach, growling like a famished beast.

After those first few hours of unrelenting, horrible hunger, he reached a stage where he wasn’t even hungry anymore. That blissful feeling lasted for about one hour before it all came rushing back, now twice as intense and unbearable than before, and Sam just couldn’t take it anymore. So he gave up on trying to suppress his hunger and on his stubborn mission to stay in the room for as long as possible, and crawled out of the bed, tossing the forgotten book somewhere on the mattress before putting his shoes on.

He glanced at the clock and sighed. It was 6pm, so someone might still be downstairs, maybe even lurking around in the kitchen, and Sam really didn’t want to run into anyone right now; or ever, really. He couldn’t avoid them forever, he knew that, especially now that he was living here under the same roof with everyone. But hope died last, and as he made his way to the door, turning the handle as slowly and quietly as possible, he couldn’t stop the sigh of relief when he peeked out and saw no one. He was met with complete silence, one that became eerie the more time passed with Sam just staring into the warehouse and waiting, making sure that nobody was about to come marching out through one of those doors.

When it became evident that he was alone, he shimmied through the partially opened door and silently closed it behind himself, wincing when he walked a few steps down the catwalk, the sound of his feet meeting the steel surface loud and bouncing off the walls. Furrowing his brow as he concentrated, Sam moved slowly, first lowering his heel to the ground before letting the rest of his foot join, his toes curling as he gradually made his way down the stairs, even slowing his breathing as he descended with the majestic speed of a turtle. Once at the bottom, he leaned against the railing and took a deep breath, trying to calm his poor heart that was going through a bit of a meltdown. He felt like some secret agent like this, sneaking around a compound filled with criminals, the thought bringing the smallest of smiles to his lips.

Gazing into the darkness, it took him a moment to spot the door Benny was talking about. Taking a second to make sure that he hadn’t gained an audience, Sam headed toward the door, careful not to bump into the ping pong table in the middle of the room or, with his luck, trip over his own two feet. He still wasn’t sure what the table was doing here, but he guessed even evil masterminds had to entertain themselves somehow.

He reached the kitchen door without any difficulties, stopping in front of it as realization hit him. Nobody was here, watching him. Nobody would know if he took another door, for example the one leading outside. They wouldn’t realize he was gone until it was too late, until Sam would be far away from this wretched place and sipping hot cocoa from a police station mug with a security blanket draped over his shoulders.

Taking a step back, his eyes darted left and right while his hands began trembling from the sudden rush of excitement. He clenched them into fists and tried to calm the shaking as he turned around; but only managed to take two more steps before he heard a door opening. Gasping silently and nearly jumping out of his skin, he panicked and spun around, finding shelter in the kitchen as he jerked the door open before slamming it shut once inside. He was already regretting being so damn loud, but he wasn’t thinking right then, panting and leaning with his back against the door while feeling like there was a whole national circus performing in his body, his stomach doing somersaults and his heart hammering in his chest like a dozen of galloping horses.

He waited like that, waited for a long moment with his eyes shut and the only sound reaching his ears being his heavy breathing, then finally peeled himself away from the door and ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long sigh. It didn’t seem like whoever was out there planned on coming after him, Sam immensely glad for that, though disappointed that he couldn’t carry out his escape plan. Ah well, at least he made it to the kitchen, deciding to make use of his situation and look for some food while in here.

The room was wide, containing both the kitchen and the dining room, the two only separated by a single step leading to the elevated kitchen. Finding the light switch after some blind searching, Sam made a small appreciative sound when he noticed the antique glass chandelier hanging above the dining table, which was made of carved wood, a deep and inviting brown that matched the chocolate brown walls. They weren’t made of brick this time, their surface smooth as he ran his fingers down the wall nearest him, before walking to the kitchen part of the room. It was nice and simple, with a dark gray fridge, a sink and a built-in dishwasher, the counters along the wall faced by some more of their kind, those lining up along the small portion of the step and containing several drawers.

He walked to the fridge, opening it and licking his lips when he noticed the rectangular dish, getting on his tiptoes as he pulled it out and placed it on one of the counters next to the sink. Removing the tinfoil from on top of it, he grinned. He loved lasagna. Quickly searching the kitchen for a plate and cutlery, he put them next to the dish once located, and was about to cut a piece for himself when what he thought he managed to avoid happened.

The door opened and Sam’s eyes widened, feeling a chill spread through his body. Great, of course they heard him, why wouldn’t they? Reluctantly, he put the knife down and turned around, expecting to find Nick or Benny at the door, maybe even a grumbling Crowley.

What he did not expect was seeing Dean leaning against the doorway, watching him.

Sam’s mouth fell open and his eyes must have resembled that of a fish’s, he had them open so wide. Crap, anyone but him. Sam would take Crowley any day over this guy, couldn’t tolerate his presence, but as he watched the boy take a few steps inside before closing the door behind him, Sam realized he didn’t really have another choice. Being alone in a room with this person was going to be a nightmare, Sam already feeling as his palms began sweating even though not even a minute had passed.

“Out for a late snack?” Dean said teasingly, a sly smirk crossing his face as he closed in on him, Sam feeling the hard edge of the counter press against his waist as he backed into it.

“None of your business,” he spat, but the fierce act he was going for wasn’t really working with his voice coming out weak, much more insecure than he would have wanted.

“Oh yeah?” The boy’s smirk twisted and turned into a grin, his one eye glowing with something malicious as he slowly closed the distance between them, and before Sam realized, they were standing inches away from each other, the boy blatantly breaching his personal space without a second thought. “Because now, since you’re one of us, I think knowing what you’re up to is exactly what I should be doing.”

“I’m just trying to eat…” Sam muttered, whatever speck of bravery he thought he had left gone in an instant, crushed and turned to dust under Dean’s piercing gaze. Then just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, the situation turned even more uncomfortable when the boy placed his hands on the counter behind Sam, and leaned forward, way too goddamn close, forcing the younger boy to bend his body backward and away from the predator leering at him.

“Hmm…” Dean watched him for a long time, Sam becoming fidgety but unable to move, before lowering his one eye to look at the other’s body in a way that wasn’t normal, couldn’t possibly normal. “I hope you’re not thinking of running,” he warned lowly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we didn’t sell you. A bit surprised, because such a pretty face could have been worth a lot, but I don’t mind. However if you do try to slip past our fingers, little mouse…then I won’t hesitate to sink my claws in you.”

Sam was trembling. He was fucking shaking like he was stuck in some sort of freezer, but instead of cold, his body was burning. It was on fire, confused flames licking at his skin and heating his face up when Dean ran his tongue across those lush lips, and Sam suddenly couldn’t remember his name.

“I-I won’t,” he stuttered miserably, barely daring to breathe as he forced the words past his lips, his knuckles whitening with the force he was gripping the edge of the counter he was pressed into. “I won’t run, I swear I won’t.”

White teeth flashed as Dean’s grin widened, Sam freezing to a marble statue when the boy raised a hand to his chin, lifting it to reveal the wounds on his throat, then used the fingers on his other hand to caress them, the light touches making Sam shiver.

“I wouldn’t mind if you would,” he purred, leaning close to the quivering boy’s ear, Dean’s warm breath as it ghosted over his skin too much, and Sam closed his eyes in terror. “The prize after a chase is so much sweeter, after all. I bet you’d be nice and juicy for me, too, Sammy…”

He gritted his teeth to stop the _whimper_ that was threatening to escape him, his breath stuck in his throat and his eyes fluttering open, quickly going wide again when he felt Dean’s soft lips against his ear, then on the area beneath it, before they moved down his neck, setting Sam’s sensitive skin on fire wherever they touched him.

“I’m not… Don’t call…” He trailed off, unable to even speak anymore. “Don’t call me Sammy,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper now, but quickly rising an octave as he made a small, squeaking sort of sound when he felt Dean kissing the spot where his neck met his shoulder, before finally, _finally_ withdrawing.

He pulled away from the panting boy and flashed him a devious grin. “Sure thing. Whatever you say, Sammy,” he said tauntingly, ruffling and making a mess of Sam’s hair.

He was scared, afraid to move, but hearing that nickname from this asshole was what fuelled him to move his hand behind his back and pat around the counter, searching for the knife. Something in the boy made him into a coward, his voice sucking out all the energy from Sam’s limbs and soul and he really didn’t like it. His reactions were off, seriously messed up, but no matter how much this boy frightened him, he knew he had to do something, if only to prove it to himself that he was still capable of defending himself; that he still had some balls between his legs.

So when he wrapped his fingers around the wooden handle of the knife and watched as Dean turned around, ready to walk out of the room, he only hesitated for a brief moment before stepping up behind the boy and raising the knife.

Before he could’ve made a nice little cut on the boy’s shoulder, though, Dean was turning around and knocking the knife out of Sam’s hand, the younger boy gasping in surprise when the other grabbed him by his throat and slammed his body into the fridge. He pressed himself close, literally growling at Sam, who decided it was okay to freak out now, and did just that, clawing and kicking at the boy and desperately trying to free himself.

“Wrong move, kiddo,” Dean hissed threateningly, his voice suddenly deep and rough and fucking terrifying. He tightened his hold on Sam’s throat, cutting off his air, and this time he couldn’t stop the weak little whimper that escaped him as horror coursed through his veins. “Do you want to get punished? Is that what you want?” Dean tilted his head and narrowed his glaring eye, completely ignoring as Sam’s nails scratched at his hand and legs kicked at him. He just leaned closer, their foreheads nearly touching as he whispered, “Bending you over my knee and spankin’ your ass raw, would you like that?”

Tears welled up in Sam’s wide, frantic eyes, and he quickly shook his head, however could already hear his pulse in his ears, his whole face red and numb from the blood stuck there, and he was choking as Dean strangled him, close to crushing his windpipe. But he didn’t kill him, thankfully releasing his throat in the last moment and letting Sam fall to the floor, his knees too weak to support him any longer. He coughed, sniffing and blinking back the tears, unable to look up at the boy who he knew was standing before him, saw his feet from where he was sitting on the cold floor.

“Let that be your warning not to ever do something so stupid again,” he heard Dean say, then walk out of the room, leaving Sam alone.

He raised his shaking hands to his throat, wincing as he touched the wounds that were bleeding again. Having some trouble with swallowing, he took deep but ragged breaths, continuing it until he felt more or less at ease. He sat on the floor, not caring how the cold tiles made him shiver through his clothes, and leaned back against the fridge, quickly rubbing his eyes to get rid of any obstinate tears that were trying to make their great escape.

Well, crap. He really screwed up, big time. Trying to land a surprise attack on Dean wasn’t that bright of an idea after all. What was he thinking? Did he seriously believe that he could overpower someone who was not only older and stronger than him, but also a psycho killer? God, he was such an idiot, but at that time it really seemed like a good idea. Maybe he could have even succeeded if only he’d have been faster and quieter, sneaky like a fox and agile like a cat. Instead he was more like an elephant, obvious and clumsy, getting manhandled by the boy so easily it was pathetic. His neck was still aching, and he was positive he’d have some finger shaped bruises on his skin by tomorrow, a nice touch to the wounds on his throat.

He did more bad than good, now the word fear not even close to describing how he felt toward the boy. He wasn’t actually sure how he felt, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to become friends with him. Dean had threatened him with horrible things too many times, promised some downright dirty stuff, and it made Sam scared not only for his life, but… No, that couldn’t happen. Dean was crazy, a complete sadist and kind of a pervert, sure, but he wouldn’t go that far, would he? He wouldn’t…rape Sam, would he?

Quickly shaking his head, Sam forced the thoughts out of his mind. He was thinking of the very worst case scenarios, as always, his mind going wild with impossible outcomes, and he was getting worked up for nothing. Dean kissed his shoulder and teased him, that much was true, but Sam honestly doubted that the boy would go too far. He was just a simple psychopath playing with his newest toy, Sam hating that role but unable to do anything about it. At least not yet. He wasn’t going to stay here forever, but while he was, he certainly did not plan on enduring that asshole’s teasing without putting up a fight. He would have to work on his reaction time, though. Also, maybe he should try not acting like he was scared shitless whenever Dean looked at him.

Yep, he should definitely start with that.

Sam sighed. “Okay, let’s do this,” he mumbled, getting to his feet and fixing the nest of a hair on top of his head, before walking back to the empty plate and finally filling it with some delicious lasagna. He then found a microwave fairly quickly, tapped his foot impatiently while waiting for it to heat up, then was sitting at the dining table and stuffing his face in a matter of seconds.

Damn, he was hungry.

Eating made him forget the previous ten minutes, the only proof they ever happened being the dull ache in his neck. After he was done and had quite literally licked the plate clean, not bothering with manners since he was alone anyway, he put everything in the dishwasher and drank some water to wash it all down. Full and with his nerves back to normal, he made sure that Dean was nowhere to be seen before sneaking back to his room, where he began searching for a key. He knew there should be one, as Benny had one for his room too, feeling a bit stupid for only remembering that now; but when he found the key in the vase, on top of the rocks, he didn’t care because now he could keep out any unwanted visitors. Which was everyone, really.

So that’s what he did. He locked the door, the sound as the key turned in the lock making Sam smile, then walked into the bathroom and poked the towels. He really wanted to take a shower, but already made up his mind that he’d wait until he had fresh towels. But then again, if he was going to catch something, then he already did when he used Benny’s towel on a whim, so really, what did he have to lose?

Nodding to himself, he closed the bathroom door and began undressing, eager to finally be able to wash his hair. It was the little things that counted, right?

—

 

Sam Winchester’s Great Escape—attempt number two.

After showering and using the mouthwash as makeshift toothpaste, he finished the book. It took him a few more hours, but since he was a quick reader, he found himself reading the last few sentences only four hours later. When he was done, Sam put the book back on the shelf, tempted to just start another one, but flopped down on the bed instead, suddenly feeling tired. Wanting and needing to just forget that day’s events, Sam unbuttoned his shirt and folded it as neatly as possible before placing it on the floor, then hid under the blanket and hoped for sleep to claim him as fast as possible.

It was when he woke up some time later and glanced tiredly at the clock, that he noticed the opportunity that was hanging in front of him like a plump meat on a hook.

It was three in the morning, so there was no way that anyone was awake; not even Dean. At least that’s what he was hoping for as he hesitantly climbed out of the bed and threw his shirt on, not bothering with shoes as he knew how much noise they could make. He could already feel the nervous lump in his throat as he approached the door, now regretting locking it. Pulling a face as he turned the key and unlocked the door rather audibly, he pocketed the key and then waited.

He stood impossibly still and just waited, listening with his ear pressed against the hard wood. Was he willing to risk this? This was the best time to get out of this hellhole, to run like a chicken with its head missing, but the danger of getting caught remained. And while it didn’t really matter who’d catch him in the act, as Sam was pretty sure that they would all kill or beat the crap out of him, he hoped with all his mind that he wouldn’t see a certain black eyepatched boy once he reached the door leading to freedom. He really didn’t feel like finding out if his threats were empty or very much real. And undoubtedly painful.

After some more minutes of waiting silently, Sam steeled himself and opened the door. This time his steps were much quieter, the socks on his feet softening the sounds as he crept down the stairs. However it was also darker, the downside of trying to escape in the middle of the night being that he could barely see his hands when he raised them to his face. The moonlight that penetrated the warehouse through the large window helped, so at least he didn’t trip and go plummeting down the stairs like some ragdoll, plus keeping one hand on the railing while extending the other in front of him also kept him from falling. When he felt the hard cement under his feet instead of the steel steps, he moved closer to the brick wall, keeping close to it as he gradually and cautiously made his way to the door.

Once there, he stopped. Swallowing nervously, he raised a clammy hand to the sliding door and pressed it against the cool, metal surface, hoping that would help calm him down a little. When that did not happen, he let out a silent sigh and patted around until he found the depression in the door, before hooking his fingers around the edge and pulling.

A thin ray of moonlight entered the room as soon as the door began moving, the clear light growing and expanding as he continued pulling the rather heavy door. It protested loudly while moving under Sam’s hands, the boy cursing and giving up after a while, satisfied with the narrow gap he created for himself. It was just big enough for him to be able to slip through it, and he already had his head and half a shoulder on the other side, when he noticed the woman.

“Well, this is interesting,” she remarked in amusement, Sam turning his head to look at her so fast that he knocked the back of his skull against the solid doorframe, the action drawing a pained sound from him.

Why did the world hate him, just why?

He quickly pulled back and into the building, having approximately three seconds to collect himself before the door was sliding all the way open, bathing the inside of the room with moonlight and casting a shadow over the woman’s face, who stood with her back to the light. She flashed a smirk at him, taking a step forward at the same time as Sam took one back, his mind in overdrive as it was trying to come up with an excuse, and quick.

“Uh, I wasn’t— this isn’t what it looks like,” he blurted, even though it was exactly what it looked like. He didn’t sound too convincing, even to his own ears, so he tried again. “I wasn’t trying to run.” Right, because that’s so much better. God, he really needed to work on his lying abilities while under stress.

The woman walked further inside the building, the faint light that came from the window allowing Sam to get a look at her features. A thick curtain of brown hair so dark it seemed black cascaded down her shoulders, the wavy locks reaching her breasts which were hid by a gray shirt and a leather jacket, her legs enclosed by tight blue jeans. Her doe eyes narrowed dangerously, espresso brown orbs seemingly staring right into Sam’s soul and very being, her smiling lips stretching wider and holding something mischievous as she put her hands on her hips.

“Is that so?” She raised her eyebrows at him, giving him a quick once-over before glancing back over her shoulder at the open door. “You were just going out to get some fresh air, right? At three in the morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he insisted. He had already started down the road of lies; he wasn’t going to turn back now. But the amused look on the woman’s face told Sam that his efforts were useless, because she wasn’t buying any of it.

Then she surprised him by patting his head and flashing a more friendly smile at him. “It’s fine, don’t piss yourself because of me. You’re Sam, right?” she asked, and he nodded after a second. “Aha, thought so. Heard a lot about you from Nick. I’m Ruby, by the way, nice to meet you…and to have you as one of us. Finally life around here might just be more fun with you around.”

Frowning, Sam had a swarm of questions in his mind, but settled on just asking one for the moment. “It’s fine?”

“Yeah, kid!” she said with a small laugh and a wink. “I won’t be your big bad wolf. I didn’t see anything. Heck, you’re not even here right now. You’re in your room, sleeping…right?”

He couldn’t believe his luck, tried not to let it get to him too much as he nodded jerkily, the surprise of how kind she was making Sam uncertain about what to do next. They stood in silence for a while, the woman giving him an expectant look, and it took him a moment to realize what those suggestive eyes meant.

Muttering a low “Thanks”, Sam took one last look at the smiling woman before ducking his head and shuffling back to the stairs, climbing them quickly and locking the door once he was back in his room.

He just got away with being caught while trying to escape, and he didn’t know if he should either laugh from relief, or collapse on the floor from shock. Both options seemed tempting, so he chose to do them both, slowly sliding down the door and raising his shaking hands to his head, while grinning incredulously. He was extremely confused, not sure what the hell just happened, but he wasn’t bleeding out on a plastic sheet yet, so he guessed he was safe. Well, as safe as one could get in a building full of criminals.

So attempt number two was a bust as well. That sucked, Sam certainly not glad to be back in this room, but he also couldn’t deny he preferred it here than the torture chamber these guys surely had hidden somewhere behind those doors. That woman, Ruby, helped him. Well, at first she freaked him out and Sam was sure that that was it, that he’d be gutted by a brunette Catwoman, but it turned out fine. More than fine; Ruby was even willing to go as far as to pretend that nothing happened. He couldn’t be sure that she’d stick to her words and won’t run straight to Nick though, but she seemed genuine enough. Still, she was a smuggler, so Sam wasn’t going to start trusting her just because they exchanged a few sentences and she hadn’t threatened him in either one of them.

He sat on the floor—which he realized he has been doing a lot of lately—for a long while hoping that nobody would come knocking at his door, but as the minutes trickled by and still nobody came, he decided that he was in the clear. Sam got to his feet with the speed of a sloth, then didn’t even bother with removing his shirt this time and just climbed back into the bed. Too much had happened to him and his mind was too exhausted, needing some time to recharge. He could just reflect on everything later; for now, he was going to let sleep take him in its arms and render him unconscious.

 


	6. Hungry Hungry Hippos

 

Two days.

They let him “relax” for the impressive amount of two days before capturing and forcing him to carry out a job with them.

A real, dangerous smuggling job.

Sam obviously spent those two relatively peaceful days locked away in his room, only going out when he got hungry or thirsty, and only letting anyone in when they came bearing gifts—such as fresh towels, a toothbrush, and clothes. Nick didn’t like him spending all of his time holing up in the room, but since they didn’t really need him for anything important, he let Sam have the space and alone time he needed, only suggesting to spend a bit more time outside whenever they accidentally crossed paths. And each time, Sam refused and scurried back in the safety of the room as soon as possible, sometimes even bringing whole bottles of water with himself so he wouldn’t have to leave as frequently.

He also met others, and while they surely weren’t going to become anything close to friends, Sam had found Ruby to be the least of an asshole in the whole group. She stayed true to her word, keeping his late night activity a secret, and always greeted him with a smile. Not the kind of smile he usually—if not all the goddamn time—got from the men of the gang, which were either derisive, malevolent, or disturbingly cunning. No, her smile was surprisingly genuine, nice and more or less friendly save for the times it looked devilish, but only in a mischievous and playful way. At least Sam hoped that was the case. Anyway, she was the only person who was nice to him from the start, and while that made him rather suspicious, he couldn’t deny that he was also glad. Not happy, never happy, but it felt good to not have a constant knot in his stomach whenever she talked to him or they made eye contact.

That couldn’t be said about the rest of the people Sam was locked in together with. Raphael was still a complete mystery to him, the man not even willing to speak to him when they met on the catwalk, his room apparently right next to Sam’s. He didn’t mind though, as that merely meant one less thing for him to worry about. He did, however, mind the fact that the third room on his side belonged to none other than Dean, the boy nearly giving him a heart attack when he came waltzing out of the room right before Sam could’ve entered his. They had a brief staring contest; Dean’s face immediately going dark and only just adding to Sam’s shock. He ran into his room and locked the door before the other could’ve done or said anything, naively believing he got away, but then heard the boy knocking and trying to coax him out like some wolf from a fairy tale.

He refused to leave his room for hours after that.

He also didn’t try to escape, a bit too traumatized still from getting caught. It ended well for him, but that was only because it was Ruby who saw him. He didn’t want to find out what the others would do to him if they’d catch him. So, needing a bit of time before he’d have the guts to try another escape plan, he spent his time reading and doing a good job at not socializing, grateful to whoever this Adam guy was for having good books.

With those two days being uneventful, he was looking forward to a quiet and peaceful third day, when there was a knock on his door.

Sam was lying on the bed, his arms getting tired from holding the book he was currently reading, when he heard the three, loud knocks. He was so immersed in the story, though, that he accidentally let go of it, the sudden knocks surprising him and resulting in the book landing right on his face. Grumbling, he shoved the leather bookmark he found on the shelf into the book and closed it, before climbing out of bed and making his way to the door.

“Vacation time is over, kiddo.” He heard Dean’s voice before he saw him as he opened the door, immediately changing his mind and trying to push it closed, but the boy forced his foot in the gap and gave the wood a hard shove. Sam stumbled back, his eyes wide then narrowing as he glared at the other standing in the doorway, looking nonchalant as ever.

“What are you doing here? What do you want?” he demanded, not expecting this guy to be the first one he’d see today. He hoped he wouldn’t get to see him at all, actually, but here he was, fortunately only standing in the doorway and not coming inside yet.

“Aw, no need to be so hostile,” Dean said with a chuckle. “What have I ever done to you?” Sam gaped at him, but the boy was obviously using sarcasm, not waiting for an answer before continuing. “There’s a job and we need you. And since you’ve been stuck in this room for a while, someone needed to come and drag you out, so I volunteered. Aren’t I the best?”

Not having a solid wall separating him from the smirking boy made him uneasy, that much was true; but Sam nearly forgot all about that when he realized what Dean just said. “Wait…a job? What kind of job?”

“Well, we thought of breaking into a zoo and setting all the cuddly animals free,” he deadpanned, before rolling his eyes and grinning. “What do you think? We’re gonna get some guns across the border.”

“You don’t need me for that,” Sam stated as if he knew that for a fact, which he obviously did not.

Dean raised an eyebrow, now taking a step into the room, Sam wanting to back the hell away but finding himself unable to move his legs. “Really? Why, thanks for believing in us, but I must insist you come with us. You’ve been in here long enough, and now it’s time you joined us for real. You know, make yourself useful.”

Sam shook his head, determined to not do anything along the lines of joining them. “I can help in other ways too, no? I don’t necessarily have to commit a crime.”

“Oh, grow up,” Dean groaned, then began slowly closing the distance between them, Sam finally willing his body to move and using this newfound strength to back away from the boy whose demeanor screamed danger. “What were you expecting when you accepted becoming a smuggler? Hugs and puppies? No, Sam, there ain’t no other ways someone like you could help. The only reason you’re still breathing is because we need you for jobs, so don’t try to ruin this arrangement by pussing out like some pathetic little infant.”

Dean sneered down at him, successfully backing him into the windows. He placed his palms on the glass on either side of Sam’s head, pretty much trapping him in place, and this really wasn’t good. The younger boy clenched his hands into fists, tempted to slug this jerk in the face, but he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. He couldn’t land a hit on this boy when he had his back to him, so how was he supposed to hurt him like this, with Dean looming over him like an evil Big Ben? Plus, he was kind of right. Sam hoped this day would never come, but knew that he couldn’t run from it forever. Refusing was out of the question at this point, so really, why was he even trying? What for? To get his head shouted off for being an “obstinate, ungrateful little shit”?

Sighing, he looked away from the boy. “Yeah…sorry,” he muttered lowly, hating to apologize but not really seeing another way around the problem he created for himself. Apologizing is what mature people do, anyway, right?

Dean, on the other hand, didn’t seem like he wanted to take a mature approach to the situation.

“What’s that?” he asked teasingly, leaning closer and tilting his head with a sly smirk on his face. “I don’t think I heard you, could you repeat that a bit louder?”

Sam’s eyelid twitched as he looked back at the boy, gritting his teeth and feeling a snarl form on his lips. But instead of snapping at him, he remained as calm as possible as he said the next words. “I said I’m sorry, okay? I’ll come with you and do the job, so…”

“So what?” Dean taunted him, leaning alarmingly close, and Sam quickly put his hands on the boy’s chest to push him away.

“So get away from me,” he hissed, pressing the heel of his hands into the other’s shirt as he tried to gain some distance between the two of them, but Dean was like a damned stone statue, refusing to move no matter how much Sam pushed.

“How rude,” the boy purred, then suddenly he was grabbing Sam’s wrists and pressing them against the window, the cold glass contrasting with Dean’s burning hands wrapped around his skin. “I don’t feel the love, Sammy.”

“Let. Go.” Sam snarled up at the boy, masking his fear with anger, but he never seemed to be able to lie to this person. Dean saw right through his act, the smug grin that spread across his face sending a chill down Sam’s spine and making him wish the other would just move already, because this was really uncomfortable and his heart was beginning to speed up again.

“Maybe…” Dean whispered, finding his ear and nudging his hair out of the way with his nose. “If you ask me nicely.”

He teasingly blew a soft puff of air into Sam’s ear, the younger boy’s eyes widening before he squeezed them shut, his breaths coming out ragged and weak. Crap, why? Why did this happen every single time? Why couldn’t he behave normally and shove Dean away, instead of feeling like the strength got sucked out of his limbs? Nobody had done anything like this to him before, and Sam was fucking terrified, not only from the boy but from his own body’s reaction, the way something inside him was reaching out, afraid but curious flames licking at his skin wherever Dean touched him.

However he needed Dean to get away from him, or else his knees might give out and he was going to collapse; so he opened his mouth and forced himself to speak. “Please…please let go,” he panted, and his eyes flew open because when the hell did he start panting?

“Good boy,” Dean praised, his voice deep with something Sam couldn’t recognize, and pulled away. He let go of the other’s wrists and took a few steps back, licking his lips. “Now that wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Sam didn’t answer, too busy clutching at his chest in hopes of slowing down his heartbeat, and staring at a random spot on the carpet, refusing to look back at that pervert. He did have to raise his gaze at one point, the silence that followed too much for him to handle after a while, and when he did, Sam’s uncertain eyes were met with Dean’s smiling one.

“Calmed down yet?” the boy asked, the grin Sam was expecting replaced by a faint smile, something he wasn’t used to seeing on such a wicked individual.

He let out a small sigh and nodded, pushing himself away from the window and bending one arm to grab at his own elbow nervously, digging his fingers in his flesh.

“Great, then let’s not make the others wait any longer,” he said, beckoning Sam as he walked out of the room, pausing at the door and waiting for him to catch up, before continuing. Sam closed the door and followed Dean down the stairs silently, ignoring the thoughts that kept prodding him, shoving them to the very back of his mind and deciding to worry about them later. Right now, he supposed he should focus on the people in the warehouse instead, in the middle of stacking several weapons on the ping pong table, along with bags filled with the sort of equipment Sam had no idea what they were for.

“Finally!” Benny exclaimed after he looked up from loading a pistol and spotted them walking over to join him. He smiled at Sam, then looked at Dean, his smile slowly curling into a grin. “I thought I wouldn’t get to see you two for a few hours.”

Chuckling, Dean shook his head. “Tempting, but no. This job is more important than…other things,” he said, casting a quick glance at Sam, who might have had no idea what the hell they were talking about, but chose to live in blissful oblivion instead of finding out.

“What are we going to do?” he found himself asking out of the blue, the amount of guns and other things on the table unnerving him.

Benny flashed him an excited smile, then quickly looked at the other boy. “Dean, why don’t you get me the cables from the armory while I break today down for our padawan?” he suggested, pointing at the open door by the left staircase. It was the only other door on that side, aside from the kitchen and the rooms upstairs, and as Sam craned his neck to get a look at what was inside, he wasn’t sure if he was even surprised when he noticed a freaking RPG mounted on a wire screen wall.

“Sure,” the boy answered and was gone in an instant, walking and disappearing in the room which was the armory. Sam was learning more and more about his new home, but he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, making him wonder just what could lie behind door number four. Yeah, nope—he was curious, but maybe not _that_ curious.

Benny waited until Dean was gone before he turned to the table, motioning at the mess while looking at Sam. “Do you know what these are?”

Scratching his cheek, he stepped closer to the table and took a better look at the clutter of weapons. Most were in foam cushions, lying snuggly in what he first thought were simple gun cases, but now that he noticed the metal handles on them, realized they were briefcases. Most were filled with guns Sam recognized as submachine and machine guns, while others held row upon row of bullets, both small and massive, some glinting in a strange silver color. There were also two duffel bags on one corner of the table, but he could only see some black helmets and something round and metallic sticking out of the bags.

He thought for a moment, trying to remember what John had taught him, then nodded and began reciting names. “That one’s an MP5,” he said, pointing at a black submachine gun in one of the suitcases, “and that’s an MG4. That one over there is a TAR-21 and…this one is…” Sam frowned, glancing from the weapon to Benny. “An AG36. It’s a grenade launcher.”

“Amazing,” the man said with a wide smile, seeming impressed. “I didn’t expect for you to know them by heart like that.”

Sam shrugged, suddenly feeling a bit proud. “I know quite a lot about guns,” he stated and watched as Benny picked up the gun he was loading not long ago, weighting it in his hand, before holding it out for Sam.

“And this?” he asked, Sam knowing the answer ever since he laid eyes on the stainless steel gun with its black leather grip.

“A Beretta M9.”

“Right on,” Benny said and winked at him, then stared at the gun in his hand for a second before holstering it. “And we’ll be taking these guns across the border, however not by car. We do things…a bit differently.”

Sam was about to ask just what exactly he meant by that, when Dean came strolling back to the table with a long, rolled up steel cable in his hands, then tossed it on top of one of the duffel bags with a huff.

“Damn, this thing is heavy,” he grumbled and stretched his back, his joints popping audibly to what the boy let out a pleased sigh.

“It might be, but we’re needing it,” Benny remarked, before turning his head back to Sam, who was feeling a tad bit confused. “So where was I? Oh right. Yeah, so since the amount of stuff we usually smuggle makes it impossible for us to use cars, we have come up with loads of other methods. Like this time, we’re going to use this cable”—he nodded to the braided wires on the duffel—“to go over the wall, and bring the guns with us.”

“Go over the wall?” Sam scowled at the man. “You mean like, climb over?”

Instead of Benny, it was the boy who answered, flashing a devious grin at him as he said, “More like slide over.”

“Slide? What—” he began, but then remembered noticing the helmets in the bags, and the penny dropped, Sam understanding what they were talking about. “Oh,” he said and studied the metal object he couldn’t identify before. Yep, it was definitely a carabiner. He might actually get to do something cool for once, though maybe he shouldn’t get his hopes up, as however fun this might’ve looked, it was also a part of some probably extremely dangerous plan.

“Alright, well if all’s clear, then let’s go,” Dean said, moving closer to the table and starting to close the briefcases, but Sam wasn’t ready at all, so he quickly searched his mind for a question, anything.

“Who’s coming? Will it only be the three of us?” he asked quickly, Dean completely ignoring him as he took a hold of the closed briefcases and lifted them off the table, before taking them outside.

Benny answered him, however he was also starting to follow the boy’s example, zipping one of the duffel bags after stuffing the cable in it while he spoke. “No, Raphael’s coming too. Well, he’s already on the way,” he said, then turned completely to look at Sam and flashed him a smirk. “He will be waiting on the other end of the wall, helping out until we’ve joined him. Now, help us load the car, will you?”

He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and walked out after Dean, Sam only allowed to enjoy a few seconds of alone time before the boy was back, presumably for the rest of the briefcases. Sam quickly spun around and began busying himself with the first thing that came under his hand, which happened to be the other duffel bag.

“Won’t that be a bit heavy for you, kiddo?” Dean asked teasingly from next to him, and yeah, it would probably be a bit too much for him, but since Sam had already closed it, looking like someone who knew what he was doing, he didn’t want to seem like an idiot by just giving up.

So he scoffed, feigning confidence. “No, I’m perfectly capable of handling it. I’m not a kid anymore,” he stated, gripping the polyester webbing handles as he pulled the bag toward himself and off the table.

Then grunted when it fell to the ground, bringing his hands with it.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Dean snickered, then began laughing when, after Sam shot him a glare, he tried lifting the bag, but it wouldn’t budge no matter how much he kept tugging at it.

“Shut up!” he growled, feeling his dignity shattering to pieces as he kicked the bag, then grabbed a briefcase instead, giving up on that evil thing sitting on the ground. “How about you take it, then? Do something useful instead of just laughing there.”

“Aw sorry, did I hurt the missy’s feelings?” Dean cocked an eyebrow mockingly, and Sam was really tempted to hurl the case in his hands at the boy’s face. Really, really tempted.

“Boys, why don’t you stop flirting and take something to the car instead?” Benny’s sudden voice caught his attention, Sam nodding and shooting a quick glare Dean’s way before taking the briefcase he picked up outside.

That boy was such an ass. On a scale from one to ten, Sam would have given him an eleven, then maybe even add a few zeros behind it for good measure. He grumbled under his breath as he walked over to the van parked near the sliding door, with its rear doors hanging open invitingly. Putting the metal briefcase next the few ones already in the car, he was about to go back into the warehouse when he saw Benny striding out, shooing him away with the hand that wasn’t holding three more cases.

“We’ve got everything. Get in the car,” the man told him, Sam stepping aside and letting him pass, then watching as he filled the van.

“Are we going right now?” he asked carefully, glancing up at the bright blue sky, having to shield his eyes from the glaring sun that irradiated the meadow and the houses, shining down at everything wherever Sam looked. “Wouldn’t doing it in broad daylight be a bit too risky?”

“That’s why we’re doing it at night,” he heard Dean say from behind him. Turning around, he saw the boy carrying the same duffel bag that had so cruelly betrayed Sam, but was looking like it was light as a feather on Dean’s shoulder. “The drive to the border we’ll be taking is gonna be long, some good nine hours. So don’t worry, the sun will go down and you’ll be able to fulfill your lifelong dream of playing Batman,” the boy said tauntingly, grinning like a possum eating a sweet potato.

Sam snarled, glaring daggers at the self-satisfied looking boy, then flipped him off to make sure Dean understood just how much he wasn’t appreciating his witty comments. Without the boy looking like some hungry and bloodthirsty wolf, backing him into corners and trying to strangle him, Sam wasn’t feeling that scared of him anymore. He was still edgy and a little afraid, of course he was, but with the way Dean kept teasing and mocking him like that, his annoyance quickly surpassed any feelings of fear.

“Would you quit bickering like an old married couple and just get in the car already?” Benny sighed, shutting the rear doors once Dean put the duffel inside, then walked to the driver’s side and opened the door, not even waiting for an answer before disappearing in the car.

“You heard the man,” Dean said with a shrug, opening the passenger side door, but when Sam walked over to join him, the boy looked at him and raised his eyebrows questioningly. “What? Wanna sit on my lap?”

Sam blinked up at him incredulously. “What? No, why would I?” he asked in confusion, which was about when he realized that there were only two seats in the car. Well yes, it wasn’t a passenger van, plus he’d already seen the inside of one when he was locked in it not more than a few days ago. It even had the same wire mesh separating the front from the back, Sam realizing with a sigh that he would probably have to be the one to get squished in the back.

“Well, I wouldn’t know. You might be into that…” Dean grinned, and Sam had to stop himself from flinching.

“Yeah uh, no thanks,” he said, quickly shaking his head and opening the sliding door. Making sure not to trip over any of the briefcases, he climbed inside, hearing the door closing behind him as soon as all of his body parts were safely in the van.

“Everyone ready?” Benny asked once Dean was in the car as well, looking back over his shoulder to glance at Sam through the wire screen. “You don’t need to use the toilet, right?”

“You’re asking me that now?” Sam gaped at him, curling his fingers in the small holes of his new, makeshift cage.

“Well, do you?”

“No,” he stated, though guessed that it wouldn’t really have mattered, because they probably would’ve told him to just keep it in until they took a break or something. Thankfully, he really didn’t have to pee yet, though he was feeling a bit hungry as it was already lunchtime and he barely had any breakfast, but he wasn’t going to mention that. He was going to be a strong warrior and take it. Well, for as long as he could.

“Good. Then Sam Winchester,” Benny said with a broad smile, “welcome to your very first job as a real smuggler. Don’t let us down, kid.”

Not sure how or what to answer to that, as he sure as hell wasn’t feeling even half as excited as Benny looked, he just nodded and sat down, leaning back against the wire and extending his legs. Why, oh why wouldn’t they let him sit in a chair for once? He just knew he was going to get leg cramps like this, unable to stifle his frustrated groan when he remembered how Dean said the drive would take nine hours. And there weren’t even any windows back here, so Sam wouldn’t even be able to distract himself by looking out the glass at other cars and whatnot.

Oh yes, he knew this was going to be a fun ride.

—

He didn’t have a watch on him, so when he asked for the time and realized that only two hours have passed, Sam felt like whining.

He tried sitting cross-legged or on his knees, lying on his back or side, but no matter what kind of position he chose, it always ended up becoming uncomfortable after a while. The floor of the van wasn’t carpeted, the hard plastic it was made of rendering it completely impossible for Sam to sit still for more than an hour. And sometimes, in those rare moments when he laid down and closed his eyes, finding a position that wasn’t hurting yet, a sharp turn always managed to knock some of the briefcases over, resulting in them attacking a peaceful Sam.

Now, too, he was rubbing his jaw after it collided with the solid steel. No matter how many times he pushed those damned briefcases away, they just kept coming back, so now he decided to rearrange the duffels and make them form a wall, keeping him safe from the vicious cases’ onslaught. He leaned back against the wire with a sigh, raising one knee to his chest while extending the other leg, then rested his chin on his knee, listening to the conversation going on in the front.

“All I’m saying is that we’re on time, so those few minutes wouldn’t really matter,” Dean said, and Sam heard the other man groan.

Dean has been trying to persuade Benny to stop and let them grab some grub, because he was “starving and needing my daily dose of something greasy and unhealthy”. But the man was having none of it, shutting Dean up over and over again, and now the boy was becoming so frustrated his voice resembled suspiciously a sulking kid’s.

“How many, just how many goddamn times do I have to tell you to wait a bit longer?” Benny asked in irritation. “You’re the only one here who’s hungry, and I’m not stopping just for that!” he declared sternly, then before Dean could’ve whined some more, Sam’s eardrums nearly exploded as the man suddenly turned up the volume, the loud music blasting from the stereo and successfully drowning the other’s voice out.

Sam smirked to himself. Serves that jerk right. He could’ve starved to death for all Sam cared; at least the world would be rid of one of the many viruses inhabiting it, just one less criminal to worry about. Then he wasn’t all that happy anymore as he felt a finger jabbing at the back of his head, Sam turning around to find the boy poking at him through one of the many holes in the mesh.

“Hey, you’re hungry too, right?” Dean asked, it sounding more like an order than a question, and wiggled his finger closer, trying to poke him again, but Sam was quick to move away from the insistent digit.

And while he was actually starting to feel a bit hungry, he chose to listen to the little devil on his shoulder instead, grinning inwardly as his raised his eyebrows at the boy. “Nope, not at all,” he lied, enjoying the way Dean’s shoulders slouched. Then his eye narrowed and he grabbed the wire screen, Sam not particularly scared of him this time thanks to the wire wall between them that protected him from the annoyed male.

“Yes you are. You’re just lying, aren’t you? Little shit, doing it on purpose…” Dean growled, and the intimidating glint in his strikingly green eye would have no doubt worked, if not for the mesh that Sam was more and more grateful for.

So he just shrugged, this time letting the grin show on his face as he wiggled away from the makeshift fence, putting some more distance between the two of them just in case. “Sorry about that. Guess you’ll just have to starve. What a shame.”

Baring his teeth at him, Dean tightened his hold on the wires. “Really? You wanna play tough guy now? Just wait until this thing’s gone from between us, see how funny you’ll be then,” he hissed threateningly, and Sam’s stomach dropped. Crap, he didn’t think of that. He let himself get carried away, enjoying Dean’s suffering way too much, and completely forgot about the consequences. Oh god, he hoped he wouldn’t beat him up.

Who was he kidding; the boy was probably going to choke some sense into him, like the last time Sam did something stupid.

Looking away from Dean, he scurried over to the duffel bags and chose the lighter one out of the two to serve as his new pillow, Sam hopefully not ending up stabbing his eyeballs out by accident. He laid down and, after a while, found a relatively soft spot where he could lay his head, letting out a pleased sigh when nothing hard and sharp decided to give his skull a not-so-friendly little poke. Using the bag as a pillow was much better than the cold and hard floor, and he could feel himself relax right away, not even minding the loud music as he closed his eyes.

Some more hours passed like this, with Sam finally taking something that could’ve been called a nap, and Benny turning the volume down after a while, presumably when he was certain that Dean had learned his lesson and wouldn’t start throwing a hissy fit. Then just when Sam was about to fall asleep, his body heavy like stone and feeling his mind drifting into unconsciousness, the van pulled to a stop and the doors opened loudly, startling him awake.

Rubbing his eyes, he got into a sitting position and watched as the door on the side of the van slid open, Sam squinting into the sudden light until his eyes got used to it and then feeling all the sleep leave his body and mind when he realized the person standing outside was Dean.

He looked like he was about to say something, but then Benny walked up to him and pointed at the building next to which the van was parked. “I checked and there aren’t any cops nearby, but don’t take half an hour ordering, capiche?” he told Dean, who nodded before looking back at Sam and extending a hand toward him.

“Wanna get out of your carriage, princess?” he said teasingly, offering his hand for Sam to take, but the younger boy remained in the van and looked at Benny instead.

“Can’t he go alone?” he asked hopefully, as the least time he spent with Dean, the safer he was. He really didn’t want to return to the warehouse with some teeth and an ear missing.

But the man shook his head. “Someone needs to keep watch on you, and I’ll be busy having my eyes on the cargo to babysit you. No, you’ll go with Dean, and I suggest you do it fast because we don’t have much time to waste. We’re on a schedule, boys.”

He glanced between the two males, then just gave up and climbed out of the van, batting Dean’s hand away when he tried to help him. Benny slid the door closed, then instead of a wallet, he took out a whole stack of bills, the money kept in place by a rubber band.

He took a hold of some and pulled them out, before handing them over to Dean and nodding toward the building. “Hurry up.”

“Don’t worry. If anything, I’ll scare my way to the front,” the boy said with a small grin as he tapped his eyepatch, then quickly pocketed the money before turning to Sam. “Come on then, kiddo.”

He narrowed his eyes at the boy as they began walking. “You know, last time I checked, you were like eighteen or something. So you don’t get to call me that,” he pointed out, annoyed. “Can’t you call me by my name? Or—or you know what? Just stop talking to me altogether.”

Dean rolled his eye. “Nothing works for you, does it? Always complaining, bitchy about everything; boohoo. Anyway, I might be eighteen, but that also means that I’m older than you,” he stated with a smirk. “So that gives me every right to call you kiddo, _kiddo_.”

“It does not when you’re a kid too!” Sam protested, hoping he didn’t sound like some whining kid himself. God, this boy brought out the worst in him.

“Oh, I’m not a kid,” Dean said, his voice suddenly low and somewhat playful as he glanced down at his own body, before locking eyes with Sam and grinning. “Not at all.”

Blinking and scowling at the other, it took Sam approximately five seconds to get what he was talking about, but when he did, he could feel his cheeks flush in discomfort and maybe a bit of embarrassment. “Yeah, okay, I don’t wanna know,” he muttered, then quickly grabbed the door handle now that they’ve finally reached the building, and turned it.

There weren’t that many people in the fast food restaurant, an information Sam was really glad to note as it meant less time with this weirdo. The smell of fries and oil hit him first, followed by the confusing sound of chatter, of ongoing conversations between the costumers sitting in booths with bright red seats, or those standing in line and explaining how many extra bacon they wanted in their burgers. And while this must have been a completely ordinary sight to everyone, it was all new for Sam. He had only seen restaurants like this through television programs, this being the very first time he set foot in a real one, and it was pretty impressive. The smell was overbearing and the noise could get a bit annoying after some time, and when he walked the floor was sticky under his feet at some places, but it was still a sight to behold for him, something new and interesting.

While he was busy discovering his surroundings, Dean had already joined the shortest line, and by the time Sam was done feeling mesmerized and walked over to the boy, he was talking to the employee on the other side of the counter.

“And can I get that in large? Like double bacon, double cheese?” Dean asked with an innocent smile on his face, the woman he was talking to frowning in confusion, but then nodding.

“Sure. Would you like fries with that?” she asked in return, visibly trying not to stare at the boy’s eyepatch.

“Oh yeah. One of those large chili-cheese fries, please,” he said, his eager smile growing when he looked down at Sam, who was wondering how Dean wasn’t rolling like a bowling ball on his belly yet instead of walking from all of this food he was ingesting. “What do you want?”

Sam looked up at the menu hanging from the ceiling, deep in thought. This would most probably be the first and last time he’d get to eat food from a place such as this one, so he wanted to choose wisely. After a few moments of silence, he settled on a simple double cheeseburger. You could never go wrong with an oldie but goodie.

“A double cheeseburger, no fries,” he said, then after noticing something from the corner of his eye, added, “and an iced green tea.”

The woman nodded and while Dean paid for their orders, Sam looked absentmindedly at the special offers and discounts hanging from walls, reading them as he waited. His attention was soon caught by the sudden commotion to his left, Sam leaning away from the counter to get a better look at what was going on. A man—most of his hair gone but still managing to sport a rather long beard—was yelling at an employee behind the counter, slamming his plate full of food down on the hard surface and ranting like a maniac.

“Have you failed math class? Do you even know how many fingers I’m holding up?” he sputtered, raising a hand with four fingers extended. “Four, you moron! Four means four, not three and a half! And when I ask for four stripes of bacon, I expect to be eating exactly four of them!”

“Sir, I can assure you that we have put four in your burger,” the guy who couldn’t have been more than twenty said, a bit taken aback but trying to keep his cool, which wasn’t that easy with a man about to Hulk out shouting at him. “Maybe you just accidentally ate it?”

Sam winced silently when the man pounded his fist on the counter, fat veins bulging in his neck and temple as he leaned forward. “Do you take me for a fool, boy?! I didn’t fucking eat it, you lowbred little shit! Where’s your boss? I demand to—”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure that a pig like you wouldn’t even realize if it’d swallow a whole barn,” Dean spat all of a sudden, Sam gaping at the smirking boy and wondering if he’d completely lost his mind. Weren’t they supposed to keep a low profile or something?

“What did you just say to me?!” The man turned to face Dean, his face red from anger and his fists shaking from the force he was clenching them. Swallowing nervously, Sam took a step back just in case, feeling like he should probably warn Dean not to do anything that stupid, but it was obvious that no matter what he’d say to him, the boy was bent on pissing off the already infuriated man.

“Oh sorry, could you not understand me?” Dean raised an eyebrow at the man, his smirk widening and turning into a grin. “Guess human speech is just too complicated for your kind, huh?”

“Watch your fucking mouth, Blackbeard, or pretty soon you won’t have one!” he growled threateningly, taking a step toward Dean, who just stood in place and kept grinning at the fuming man.

“Why, will you eat that too?” he asked, then before the man could have lunged at him, Dean stepped aside and punched him so hard that he doubled over, before simply falling to his knees on the floor. “Oink oink, mate.”

The man glared up at him with bloodshot eyes. “Y-You little…!”

Then Dean slugged him in the face, breaking his nose, and suddenly the man was quiet again.

“Damn it, stop,” Sam hissed, glancing around the room full of people staring at them, some in awe or panic, while others seemed like they would be happy to join in on the fight.

Dean just shrugged, turning away from the man on the floor and picking up the bags of food that had materialized on the counter in front of them. “Thanks,” he told the woman, who was looking at him with wide eyes, then gave her a flirtatious wink before shoving one of the bags in Sam’s hands and walking out of the building.

Once they were both outside and walking back to the car with quick, long strides, Sam shot him a glare. “What the hell was that for?”

“Cool, wasn’t I?” Dean asked, flashing him a smug grin. “The day’s hero.”

Sam snorted, unable to believe that the boy just referred to himself as a bloody hero. “I’m not the professional here, but I really don’t think that was a great idea. You don’t just beat random people up whenever you like it, even if they are being jerks.”

“You’re right,” he said, nodding as they reached the car, “you’re not the professional one. So your opinion is invalid.”

Frustrated, Sam glared at the back of Dean’s head as he opened the passenger seat door, but said nothing. He wasn’t going to start an argument over something like that, especially not with someone who behaved like a damn five years old, obstinate and a complete jerk when things didn’t go his way. So he just slid his door open and climbed in the van, hoping that Dean’s little outburst of questionable heroism wouldn’t come back and bite them in the ass. Or maybe it should. That would teach that idiot a lesson, maybe even open up an opportunity for Sam to disappear while they weren’t looking.

“What took you so long?” Benny asked as Dean handed one of the bags over to him. “Did you order a whole elephant?”

“No, but he beat one up,” Sam muttered, letting the words fall from his lips before he could have had the time to think them over, to stop them.

“What?” the man demanded, looking from Sam to Dean.

The boy froze in his seat, turning his head to glare menacingly at Sam, who gave him a rather awkward and innocent smile. Oops.

Rolling his eye, Dean shook his head. “It was nothing. Just gave an asshole what he deserved, that’s all,” he said nonchalantly.

“Well I really hope so,” was all Benny said, letting out a tired sigh, then stretched and shifted in his seat, before starting the ignition. “Alright, give the kid his food and let’s get a going. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Actually…” Dean began, glancing back at Sam and he really didn’t like the look in the boy’s eye. “I think I’ll keep our little rookie company.”

“What?” Sam blurted, his eyes widening as he watched Dean hop out of his seat and slam the door shut, then open and close the sliding door on the side of the van as he crawled inside the large compartment area.

“As long as you don’t get food or other stuff all over the cargo, you two can have fun back there,” Benny said indifferently, something in his voice making Sam shudder, then the car was moving and they were on the road again, however this time he was sure that he wasn’t going to get anything even remotely close to rest.

At least not while trapped in an enclosed space with an animal.

Sam slid back until he was pressed into the left side of the van, pulling up his knees and trying to appear as small as possible while watching Dean with cautious eyes. The boy was sitting cross-legged not far from him, checking the bags, then casually hurled one of them at Sam, who barely had time to catch it in mid-air before it could’ve smashed him in the face.

“Aw yeah, come to papa,” Dean mumbled as he pulled out the burger he ordered, which was giant. It really looked like they shoved a whole cow in that burger, Sam gaping at the boy when he simply opened his mouth wide and stuffed like half of the food inside.

“What are you…?” Sam blinked incredulously at the other, then furrowed his brow when Dean tried to speak with his mouth full. Not particularly curious about the boy’s surely unimportant answer, he opened his own bag and unwrapped the paper from around his cheeseburger, making a silent sound of appreciation when the food entered his mouth. Yeah, okay, so maybe he was starving after all.

“First of all,” he heard Dean say when the boy was done chewing, “hungry. All thanks to you, I might add. Also, I love burgers and I’ve never let their size stop me before, and today won’t be the day I’ll be defeated.”

“You say that like that burger has some sort of vendetta against you,” Sam mentioned between bites of his own food, only managing to relax a bit.

“Sometimes it feels like it,” Dean said with a smirk, licking his lips as he pulled out a fry, a string of melted cheese connecting it to the rest of the fried slices of potatoes as he raised it to his lips and popped it in his mouth.

Sam pulled a face and went back to destroying his own burger. He never liked fries; they were always too greasy and oily for him, and the ones Dean bought looked even worse, all gooey and disgusting from the excessive amount of cheese on them.

It seemed like Dean had noticed the look on his face, though, because in the next moment he was moving closer, Sam raising his gaze from his food to frown at the suddenly sly-looking boy. “What?” he asked when the other stopped in front of him, kneeling as he placed the bag with his half-eaten burger in it on the floor, and raising the paper box filled with the fries as if presenting it to Sam.

“Want some?” Dean picket up a cheese coated fry and wiggled it between his fingers, chuckling when Sam made a disgusted face and shook his head.

“Hell no,” he said while moving a bit to the side. “There’s a reason why I didn’t get any fries. Get that thing away from me.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t bite,” Dean teased him, crawling after Sam before grabbing his knee with his free hand after he put the box next to the bag, keeping the younger boy in place.

“Well I won’t either,” Sam stated, trying to kick the boy, but suddenly Dean spread his legs with a violent push to his knee and crawled between them. His eyes widening at the sudden closeness, Sam stared at the other, speechless for the longest moment as Dean grinned at him wickedly, his free hand sliding up from where it gripped his knee all the way up to his face.

“C’mon Sammy,” Dean said, using a low and somewhat hypnotic tone as he cupped Sam’s chin and lifted that stupid fry to his lips, poking his bottom lip with it. “Open up wide for me.”

He tried to move his head, but as soon as he did, Dean’s hand was there to take a hold of his jaw, his hold immediately tightening as his fingers dug into the nervous boy’s skin. Damn, he was doing it again. Why couldn’t he go a day without harassing Sam? Was it really that freaking hard for Dean not to touch him, to leave him alone for at least a few hours? Sam gritted his teeth, refusing to open his mouth even though he knew he should. It would be over way faster that way, but he didn’t want to give this boy the satisfaction of seeing him behave obediently. Which he knew was kinda stupid because he had already been humiliated by Dean before, but still, he just couldn’t.

So he narrowed his eyes, putting up a determined and ballsy front as he glared at Dean, hoping he would get bored and give up, but knowing the boy, that probably wasn’t going to happen.

“It’s just a fry,” Dean continued, “it won’t hurt you like I will if you don’t open your mouth right now.”

The look in his eye said he was serious. Dean would seriously beat him up over something like this, and that realization sent a terrified chill down Sam’s spine. He thought he was doing well, slowly getting used to the boy’s weird, aggressive and scary behavior, but no. No, Sam was still the same, his own body betraying him as his hands shook where they were clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes slightly wide and losing the glare in them as he parted his lips and let Dean push the fry past them, into his mouth. He watched Sam, didn’t take his one eye off him as the younger boy chewed on the food while keeping a relatively straight face, then smirked when he swallowed it down.

“Good, wasn’t it?” he asked with that devious smirk etched onto his face, but Sam didn’t answer, averting his eyes and just glad that it was over. But his relief was too quick, way too goddamn quick; because then Dean was raising his fingers that held the fry between them a few seconds ago to Sam’s lips, leaning closer and whispering, “Now lick them clean.”

“W-What?” he asked in shock, couldn’t stop his surprised voice even if he wanted to. No way he heard Dean right, no, Sam must have imagined it because there was no way the boy just told him to…

“You heard me,” Dean purred, tapping his index finger against Sam’s lips. “I want you to take them in your mouth and clean ‘em with your tongue, Sammy.”

Okay, yeah—Dean has definitely gone nuts.

“No,” he refused immediately, ready to bite off any finger that tried to get inside his mouth.

The boy chuckled, low and something else not quite right, and squeezed Sam’s jaw tighter. “I’ve gotta do everything by force with you, don’t I?”

He would have wanted to say something, maybe tell Dean to go fuck himself, but didn’t open his mouth in fear of accidentally granting access to it. He stayed silent, shooting a weak glare at the boy and clenching his jaw as hard as he could; but then Dean’s fingertips sank into his skin and it hurt, damn it hurt, and Sam made a small sound and squeezed his eyes shut, trying so hard to keep his mouth closed, but it hurt.

He gasped as two fingers got shoved into his mouth when Dean forced his jaw apart, eyes wide and staring at the boy. He tried to bite down on the merciless digits, but Dean was keeping his jaw open, digging his fingers between his teeth as he squeezed his jaw, so when Sam tried to close his mouth all he managed to achieve was to bite the inside of his cheek, which wasn’t all that pleasant, so he gave up. Then he was trembling in frustration and making protesting sounds as the fingers played with his tongue, poking and circling and sliding alongside it, sometimes making him gag when they slipped too far back.

And then Dean was talking and suddenly, Sam’s whole face was burning.

“Such sweet sounds you’re making for me, so wet and dirty,” he whispered deeply, biting down on his lower lip while watching, as if mesmerized, as his fingers slipped in and out of Sam’s mouth when he began moving them back and forth. “Does it taste good, Sammy? Why don’t you try licking them by yourself?”

He hoped so bad it wasn’t a whimper he made, but knowing his luck, it most probably was. Lowering his panicked eyes, he quickly regretted doing so when he saw Dean’s fingers glistening with saliva as they moved in his mouth. He shuddered, trying to somehow push the fingers out with his tongue but it obviously didn’t work, Sam actually just making things worse as the effort caused some of his saliva to trickle down his chin. It was too much, the sound of the slip and slide of the digits around his wet flesh making him want to just start sobbing from utter embarrassment. The initial salty taste from them was gone, now just tasting like skin, like a pair of fucking fingers in his mouth, and Sam couldn’t do anything about it, the hopelessness mixed with the humiliation and embarrassment driving him into a frenzy.

His previously frozen body—stiff and tense from shock and all the other emotions forming a whirlpool in his mind—moved, Sam forcing his shaking hands to grab Dean’s wrists and yank the fingers out of his mouth. He sank his nails deep in the other’s flesh, writhing and shaking his head, this newfound energy helping him to knee Dean in the side before kicking him away and crawling to the very end of the van, climbing over the duffel bags and briefcases like a frantic animal.

He wiped his chin and mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, panting heavily as he squatted down behind one of the briefcases and watched Dean from there. He watched as the boy groaned while rubbing his side, then wiped his wet fingers on his pants before sitting down with his back leaned against the wire screen, facing Sam and flashing a twisted grin at the shocked boy.

“You’re so much fun,” he said with a laugh, then picked up his neglected bag and box of food, and just went back to eating as if nothing happened.

Sam’s food was there too, on the floor not far from Dean, but hell no was he going to go back there for probably the rest of the ride. He wasn’t going to move from this spot, leave the safety of the duffel wall, not even if he was going to get hungry again.

He turned around and sat down with his back to Dean, the sight alone of the boy making him want to punch something—preferably him. Poking his tongue out, he grimaced. He really wanted to drink some of the iced tea to get rid of the taste of Dean’s fingers, but that wasn’t going to happen.

The hell was that? No, seriously, what the hell? Sam ruffled his hair and hugged his knees to his chest, trying real hard not to think about the past few minutes. He failed, the memories floating in front of his mind’s eyes and making him cringe. He gripped the denim of his pants and rested his forehead on his knees. Okay, so Dean was an even bigger pervert than he thought. That was fine, really, as long as he didn’t pester Sam. But he did, it seeming as if the boy’s newest mission in life was to make him as uncomfortable as possible with all his teasing and harassing. And Sam needed to do something about it. He couldn’t keep on just taking it, too afraid to even react because Dean scared him. He needed to put up a fight, damn it, not surrender and let that…that one-eyed freak toy with him as if he had every right to it.

Also, he needed to stop getting so worked up each time something like this happened. He was over-thinking everything and it was starting to take a toll on his mental state.

God, this was so confusing. He was confusing himself for no reason, with all these confusing thoughts and emotions that made everything just so…confusing.

Groaning, he let himself fall to his side, curling into a ball and using his arm as a makeshift pillow. Whatever, there was no use worrying about Dean now. Or ever, really. Sam shouldn’t even waste his precious time worrying over someone like that. He was just a big tease, a complete asshole, who Sam swore to himself he was going to beat up once. He wasn’t sure when exactly, but he planned on making the boy get a taste of his own medicine, real soon.

For now, he was just going to ignore him and plan for revenge, which was a dish served cold, after all.

 


	7. A First Time For Everything

 

A few more hours, and they arrived at their destination.

To his surprise, after around half an hour of silent treatment, Dean threw Sam’s food and drink over to him. It was a considerate action, the boy’s smile when Sam looked at him even holding the possibility to be mistaken with friendly, but he wasn’t going to be fooled. So he just huffed and finished both his food and drink with his back still turned toward Dean.

His annoyance died down, however did not disappear, by the time the car stopped.

“Alright happy campers, we’re here,” he heard Benny say before he saw him sliding the door open and beckoning to both of them. “Let’s do this.”

“About time,” Dean grumbled as he got out of the van, soon followed by Sam, who then looked about himself curiously.

Just as Dean said, the sun had set and was now replaced by the moon, its half-crescent shape high in the black, starless sky and illuminating the border with its weak rays of light. The van was parked next to a large building, not too far from the solid cement wall that was the border, and Sam wondered if they really were going to use a zip line to cross it.

“So…how are we supposed to do this?” he asked nervously, ripping his gaze from the cement giant to look at Benny instead, who had taken out one of the wider briefcases from the van and was now placing it on the ground, opening it and pulling out what Sam was pretty sure was a sniper rifle.

“Well, first we’ve gotta take care of the guards,” the man said as he screwed a silencer on the gun, before standing up and walking over to Sam. “And for that, we’ll need a decoy.”

“That’ll be me,” Dean stated, flashing a mischievous grin at them as he slowly made his way over to the corner of the building. He peeked out from behind the wall, nodded, then looked back over his shoulder and motioned for Benny to join him. The man did and, curiosity getting the better of him, Sam followed him.

They stopped next to Dean, the boy tapping Sam’s shoulder to get his attention, then pointed at something behind the building.

“Look,” he said, stepping aside to let the other get a proper look, “we’ll be taking that.”

Sam shuffled closer, hugging the wall as he peered around the corner. A good hundred feet from them was a security watchtower, right next to the border. It was really high, with many sets of stairs leading to the top, the small cabin there bathed in light coming from inside. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a shape move in the cabin, so he squinted and strained his eyes, and sure enough, after some moments of waiting and watching carefully, the guard inside moved, this time joined by another.

Withdrawing from the wall, Sam looked at the smugglers. “How many are there?”

“Only those two,” Benny answered, taking Sam’s place at the corner and getting down on one knee. He then looked back at Dean and nodded to the tower. “Alright, do it.”

“Do what?” Sam asked, really not liking not knowing things beforehand.

The boy winked at him. “Magic,” he said with a grandiose bow, before backing away and into the open. He then turned around and began limping, Sam watching with a frown on his face as Dean made some small grunting sounds while performing a rather amusing dying swan act.

They merely had to wait for maybe a minute or two before the guards noticed him. A bright light was shone on the suffering boy, and Sam crouched down next to Benny to watch as one of the guards exited the cabin and moved over to the telescope standing on the edge of the wooden balcony. He gazed into it, probably curious what that wriggling thing on the ground—as Dean had decided to pretend he was suddenly having a seizure, however looking more like a rabid caterpillar than a sick person—was, and Benny chose that moment to place the butt of the rifle on his shoulder and take aim.

Sam’s eyes widened, the realization of what was about to happen sinking in, and he barely had time to look away before he heard the muffled sound of the weapon firing.

He stared at the ground, not wanting to watch as Benny murdered the poor guards, but not seeing didn’t mean he lost his hearing as well. It all happened so fast, he didn’t have time to clasp his hands over his ears to stop the sounds of shouting and the dull thud that he was pretty sure belonged to the guard’s body hitting the ground. Then there was more shouting, followed by the sound of glass breaking and some more gunshots, and then nothing. The silence made Sam slowly and hesitantly raise his gaze to Benny, who was already standing up and grabbing his arm, dragging him to his feet as well.

“Come on, we need to hurry,” the man told him, before pulling Sam back to the van and throwing the sniper rifle in the back. He took a hold of two of the briefcases and shoved them against the slightly confused boy’s chest, then picked up one of the duffel bags and threw it over his shoulder.

Making sure that the cases didn’t fall out of his hands, Sam backed away from the van just as Dean jogged over to join them. “Couldn’t you have, maybe, avoided shooting the damned glass?” he said with an irritated frown on his face, going to grab some of the briefcases and the other duffel bag.

“Did your other eye fail to function too? Dean, the guy was about to call it in,” Benny contended as he took out the rest of the cases and then shut the backdoors. He turned toward Dean and gave him a stern look. “If I wouldn’t have shot him, we’d all be knee deep in shit right now.”

Dean kept staring at the man for a short moment, then let out some sort a mix of a grunt and a sigh as he turned around. “Fine, whatever. Let’s hope the sound didn’t alert anyone,” he grumbled and began marching toward the watchtower with long and rapid steps, casting a brief glance at Sam’s way when he walked past him. “What are you standing around for? Hurry your ass up!” he barked, and Sam didn’t need to be asked twice.

He gripped the cold handles tighter, feeling his nervousness growing with each step he took toward the watchtower. It only got worse when his eyes caught a glimpse of something sprawled on the ground near the tower, his stomach churning and Sam feeling himself go a bit weak at the knees when he realized it was one of the guards. And the closer they got, the more clearly he could see the body—the pool of blood spreading around its head, the way its limbs were twisted like a wooden puppet’s, the hole in its forehead, and those unfocused eyes, open and staring at nothing anymore. He was dead, making Sam remember just who these people he had joined were.

Murderers, cold-blooded and uncaring, the sort that Sam always loved reading about, but despised in real life. This life wasn’t meant for him, he knew that from the very start, but now as he walked past the cooling corpse of a man who was still alive just a few minutes ago, he was even more certain that he wouldn’t survive a life like this. A life of a smuggler, killing innocents here and there whenever it was convenient. No, he wouldn’t be able to take that, already feeling sick to his stomach and suddenly the fear was back. Because it was so easy to pretend, to forget who these people were while they were in the warehouse and acted more or less normal, but now? Out in the world, taking lives as if it was the most normal thing to do? Sam was beginning to feel the first signs of horror creep back into him, now that he had finally forgotten about it.

But getting scared now was pointless. He took a deep breath, let the fresh outside air fill his lungs and forced himself to calm down. He could freak out after the mission, but right now he had bigger fish to fry.

For example getting to the top of the watchtower without fainting.

“God, how far does this thing go…?” he asked quietly, his hands hurting from the effort he was gripping the metal handles. They were going up the stairs now, first Dean, then Sam, and bringing up the rear was Benny. And he was trying to look ahead most of the time, as whenever he looked down, all he saw was the long and growing drop through the gridded stairs, but that wasn’t such an easy thing to do with Sam nearly tripping every time he looked away from his feet. And then the wind began picking up as they neared the top, and Sam hated his life.

“Not far, come on,” he heard Dean say from in front of him, his voice slightly hushed by a gust of chilly wind. Sure enough, after a few more turns of ascending stairs, they were finally at the top, the wooden floorboards creaking under their feet as they gathered on the balcony, but Sam wasn’t feeling any safer. If anything, it was worse up here; and when they walked into the cabin where it was nice and a bit warmer, his relief was pretty short lived as he noticed the second dead guard lying on the floor and surrounded by tiny glass shards.

Immediately ripping his gaze from the corpse and looking anywhere but the limp body not too far from him, Sam glanced around the cabin. It was filled with machines he couldn’t recognize, aside from the wide radio set taking up half of the space at one of the walls and what he was pretty sure was a fax machine. There were also some computers in one corner, and a big screen with a green circle in it, beeping each time a narrow line that was constantly moving glided across some dots, making Sam wonder how the guards didn’t notice them sooner if they even had a freaking radar.

“Alright, you guys go to the other side,” Benny said, his voice piercing the sudden silence that had descended on the room.

Dean nodded and walked back to the door, pausing just while he raised an eyebrow at Sam and flashed him a cocky grin. “You comin’ or what?”

Sam looked from one male to the other, before putting down the briefcases next to the pile where Benny and Dean already had placed theirs, and nodded. “Uh yeah, I am,” he muttered as he reluctantly left the cabin, his heart immediately hammering like a school bell in his chest and threatening to go AWOL on him as soon as he was back on the balcony. He didn’t even know he had a fear of heights, but now that he did, he really, really wanted to get off this tower and maybe run as far away from it as possible.

The balcony had a wider area where the door to the cabin was, but it also snaked around the small room, a narrow wooden path running along the cabin walls with some rather unsteady-looking railings on the side. And of course, they had to use the aforementioned wooden path of nightmares to get to the other side, Sam not even daring to touch the surely wobbly rails and just pressing close to the wall as they walked around the cabin. Once on the other side, he noticed that Benny had opened one of the windows on this side and was now in the middle of securing something to the ceiling.

“Pretty cool, right?” He suddenly heard Dean’s voice from next to him, Sam slowly turning to look at him while pressing his back close to the wall, really not feeling like moving from this spot.

“If you’re talking about the weather, then sure. If you’re talking about the situation?” Sam let out a nervous laugh and shook his head. “Nope.”

Dean chuckled and moved closer to him, Sam tensing then leaning away when the boy petted his head. “Come on, when do you ever get to do something like this?” he asked, grinning excitedly as he pointed at the border in front of them. “It’s like we’re in an action movie.”

Well, Sam certainly couldn’t argue with that. He gazed out into the darkness and at the large and solid wall of the border not far from them. It was actually only a few feet from this side of the watchtower, a bit lower than the cabin but still high enough to seem imposing. That made him wonder how they were supposed to get over it, as they couldn’t possibly jump it without breaking at least both their legs, maybe even their necks. Then he remembered that they were going to use a cable, but that wasn’t making much sense either, because for them to zip line their way across the border, they’d need another building conveniently placed on the other side, and aside from a run-down structure some good forty feet from them, there was nothing they could’ve used.

Swallowing nervously and hoping, really hoping that his suspicions wouldn’t prove to be correct, Sam extended an arm and pointed at the smaller building on their far right. “We’re not going use that, are we…?”

But Dean’s smirk crushed all of his hopes, the boy just nodding and looking real pleased with himself when Sam’s shoulders slouched in defeat. “Yep, we are. It will be a long and pretty steep ride down to the other side, but don’t worry,” he said, his one eye never leaving the other’s face as he winked. “I’ll catch you.”

“I think I’ll just fall to my death instead, thanks,” Sam mumbled and eased away from the boy, folding his arms when Dean just laughed.

“Alright, this beauty’s ready to go,” Benny said as he popped his head through the open window and threw the cable that was now connected to the ceiling onto the balcony, then handed something that looked like a grappling hook with a small piece of rope to Dean.

When the boy saw Sam frowning, he raised the hook and the cable and flashed him a smile. “We need to get the cable to the other side somehow. Don’t worry, it might not look like it,” he said as he slipped the rope in a hole at the end of the thick cable and then did the same thing to the hole at the base of the hook, “but it’s sturdy.”

Sam had his doubts about that as he watched Dean tie the grappling hook on the end of the cable, then his jaw fell open and he gaped at the boy when he hopped on the open window and used it to climb onto the roof of the cabin in the blink of an eye.

“The hell is he doing?” Sam asked in awe, unable to see Dean anymore but noticing how the cable was being pulled up to the roof.

Benny, who was still inside the cabin and watching the ascent of the cable from there, shrugged. “Trying to be a smartass. I told him we’d need that grappling hook shooter to get the cable across, but no, he insisted on doing it by himself,” the man said, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Show-off.”

“Huh…” Sam made sure to keep his hands on the wall as he backed away a bit, but still couldn’t see what was going on up there on the roof. He could hear the whizz of something being spun in the air after a while though, then suddenly the cable was flying through the air, Sam whipping his head around to watch it soar past the border wall and barely reach the building on the other side. He squinted and strained his eyes, watching as the grappling hook clonked against the roof of the building then nearly slid off the edge, but a dark figure suddenly shot out from behind the roof door and grabbed it before it could’ve fallen.

The cable was then being pulled and stretched tight, presumably getting attached to something on the other building. Dean jumped down from the roof with a loud thud, Sam cringing when the boy’s feet hit the wood, relieved that idiot didn’t make the whole balcony collapse under them thanks to his daring little stunt.

“So, what now?” Sam asked, then took a few steps back as Benny began tossing the briefcases and the duffels through the window, Dean catching and lowering them gently to the ground each time.

“Now,” Benny said, or more like grunted as then he himself climbed out through the window, which wasn’t such a majestic sight, Sam actually having to stifle a laugh, “we’ll slide across the border like a bunch of ninjas.”

“But how are we supposed to take the weapons with us?” He frowned, feeling a bit confused again, because he just couldn’t see how they were supposed to carry some briefcases full of guns or bullets without plummeting to the ground below.

Benny crouched down and unzipped one of the duffel bags, before pulling out a series of what Sam believed were climbing equipments. “Easy,” he stated with a wide smile as he looked back at him. “We’ll simply attach them to our bodies.”

Sam blinked at the man. “Ah, right. Of course,” he said, not liking the sound of that, not one bit. He stayed where he was for now, just watching as the man pulled on a harness and fastened it around his thighs and hips, then his chest, before putting on one of the black helmets from the duffel bags. One thick strap hung from the front, with what looked like a pulley at the end, and there were several carabiners on each side of the harness.

By the time he realized that maybe he should start gearing up as well, both Benny and Dean were fully equipped, looking like a pair of mountain climbers ready to go climb the Everest. Taking a step toward them, then stopping as an especially strong gust of wind blew his hair in his face, successfully blinding him, Sam swatted at the stubborn strands until he could see again, nearly making a sound when he noticed Benny standing right in front of him.

But instead of doing something surely horrible as he was expecting, or maybe laugh at him, the man surprised him by reaching under his shirt and detaching the holster with the gun in it, before handing it over to Sam. “Listen, kid,” Benny began, his expression serious and his tone warning as he looked straight into the other’s surprised eyes, “this job can go either way. It can be a massive success, or a complete failure. But that is true to each and every job, and that’s why we need to make sure that everyone is safe and is able to help out when the need arises. So that’s why I’m giving you this. I trust you know how to use it?”

Sam looked down at the gun in his hands and nodded.

“Good,” the man said, returning Sam’s nod, then secured the holster with the Beretta to the other’s belt before stepping back and smirking. “Of course if you try to shoot any of us, we’ll kill you.”

“Of course,” he repeated, patting the gun at his side, feeling its weight as it hung from his belt. He hoped that they would let him keep it, and maybe later, when none of them would expect it, Sam could try and use it on one of them. It was a good idea, but unfortunately that’s all it was—an idea. He was confident in his shooting skills, but not as confident as to risk going on a shooting spree, so the gun was useless. Still, the fact that Benny trusted him enough to give him a loaded weapon was something, a sort of progress, and Sam would make sure to take advantage of that in the future.

Pulling his hand away from the gun, Sam cleared his throat and slowly made his way to the bags, pulling out a harness and wondering how on earth he was supposed to put that thing on. He stepped into it and pulled it on, tugging on it, then was about to start groaning in frustration, when Dean suddenly stepped in front of him and fastened the straps around his thighs.

Furrowing his brow, Sam let his hands fall to his side and glared at the boy. “I could’ve done it by myself.”

“Maybe, but I don’t feel like waiting for you to figure out how a simple harness works,” Dean commented, flashing him a smirk as he fixed the rest of the equipment, then bent down and picked up a helmet before placing it on Sam’s head and fastening it around the sulking boy’s chin. “There. See? Much faster than you monkeying with the straps.”

He rolled his eyes, pushing the boy’s meddlesome hands away with an annoyed sigh, then backed away until he was by the wall again, not really fancying staying by the edge for too long, not even if it had railings keeping people from falling. Well, a fat lot of good they did for the dead guard lying on the ground, Sam shuddering at the memory and quickly distracting himself by watching as Benny closed the duffel bags and flung one of them over his shoulder, then picked up a briefcase and clasped two carabiners around the handle, securing it to the harness. He did the same to another one, connecting that one to the carabiners on his other side, before walking over to the cable and hooking the trolley up to it.

When he was done, he made sure to grin at both boys and then give them a thumbs up as he said, “Well, wish me luck!” The man then grabbed the railing with one, and the trolley with another hand, threw his legs over the unstable metal as he sat down on it, then took a hold of the harness strap that connected him to the trolley and the cable, and pushed himself away from the balcony.

Benny slid really goddamn fast. He was picking up speed all the way down, Sam not even thinking as he rushed to the rails and grabbed them, as he leaned forward with his eyes wide and watching as the man whooshed through the air, accompanied by the rather loud sound of metal against metal. The cable dipped and bent with the man’s weight, but thankfully didn’t snap nor rip away from the ceiling or wherever it was attached to on the other building. Then after a few seconds, the sound was gone and he couldn’t see Benny anymore, and just when he was about to panic that maybe the guy has turned into a human pancake, he saw three brief flashes of light coming from the building.

“That’s my cue,” Dean said from behind him, Sam looking back at him with still slightly wide eyes.

“Wait, am I supposed to go last?” he asked anxiously, suddenly feeling nauseous and dizzy, not really in the mood to go through with this anymore, not at all. “What if something happens? What if I get stuck? What if I won’t know how to put this thing on the cable and it slips and—”

“Hey, relax. Nothing’s gonna happen,” they boy assured, stepping closer to Sam and placing a hand on his shoulder, but that wasn’t helping one bit.

Shaking his head, he shrugged Dean’s hand off and looked down from the harness on his body to the building in the distance, the knot in his throat swelling, and great, now he was frozen in place from fear.

“I… I can’t. It’s too steep,” he babbled, chewing on his lower lip as he turned his head away from the boy, tightening his grip on the rails with downcast eyes. God, he was such a kid, letting this get to him, but he felt like he’s been doused with a bucket of icy water, his limbs turning to shimmering, solid ice and unwilling to move.

He heard Dean’s sigh, then felt a firm hand cupping his jaw and turning his head back to face him, and suddenly he was gazing into the boy’s sharp eye, which was so impossibly green, as if that single orb held a whole forest in it, still gleaming with something mysterious even in the darkness of the night. “You can, and you will,” he said, his voice a deep rumble that sent a strange shiver down Sam’s back. “We won’t fail this job, screw it up because you can’t bring yourself to do something so fucking simple. I don’t care how scary it looks, Sammy. You’re gonna do it, or if not, I’ll swear I’ll make you regret it.”

Sam pressed his lips together, holding his breath as he stared at the boy, just kept staring for a moment, and when he was sure his voice wasn’t going to fail him and humiliate him in the process, he nodded. “Yeah, okay. I got it, I’ll do it,” he said, his low voice close to, but not quite, a whisper.

The corner of Dean’s lips twitched, then slowly curled into a crooked grin. “Great. Love it when we agree on something,” he remarked with a small chuckle, before pulling away from Sam and moving over to the cable.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Sam stepped away from the railing and took a deep breath, successfully calming his rapid pulse. Stupid Dean with his stupid threats. Sam wouldn’t have chickened out—it might have looked like he would, plus he was still feeling kinda terrified of sliding down on that potentially deadly thing, but everyone with a normally working brain and a healthy level of self-preservation would have freaked out at least a bit. Still, even he was aware of the fact that he couldn’t just turn on his heel and stroll away from the tower, no matter how much he desperately wished to. So he was going to do this, of course he was… He just needed a bit of time to panic beforehand, have an inner monologue and make up some motivational speeches, before actually getting down to business.

Dean had already attached the trolley to the cable and had the other duffel on his shoulder, along with some briefcases that were hanging from his hips, ready to take off, when he turned to look at Sam.

“Oh right, I almost forgot,” he said all of a sudden, quickly motioning for the other boy to come closer.

Suspiciously, Sam took cautious steps as he walked over to Dean and scowled up at him. “What?” he asked, stopping next to him, and then he didn’t even have time to pull away or react whatsoever before the boy grabbed him by the back of his neck and yanked him into a kiss.

Sam’s brain needed a few seconds to catch on, and his eyes widened so much that they hurt when he finally realized what the hell was happening. Then the kiss was over before he could’ve pushed Dean away, the boy licking his lips and flashing a lecherous grin at him when he let go and pulled away by himself.

“For the ride,” the boy said with a wink, and then he was gone, jumping over the railing and sliding down the cable before disappearing in the darkness.

And Sam just stood there, completely dumbfounded and speechless, because that asshole did _not_ just steal his first kiss.

He stared ahead at nothing in particular, his whole face burning like it just got shoved into an oven, only managing to snap out of his daze when he saw the three flashes of light coming from the building, signaling for him that it was okay to get going. He wasn’t really capable of doing anything right now, though, let alone perform some dangerous Mission: Impossible crap.

Oh god, Dean kissed him.

It was a quick, closed-mouth kiss, but a kiss nonetheless, and Sam’s hand was slightly trembling when he raised his fingers to his lips. They were soft. He remembered Dean’s lips on his, and they were soft. Kinda aggressive, as the boy quite literally crushed their lips together when he pulled Sam into the kiss, but they weren’t dry like a raisin, or small and weird. Well fine, they were weird, very freaking weird—but also big and full and…so soft.

And disgusting.

Sam unconsciously licked his lips, then realized what he was doing and quickly wiped it with the back of his hand. That was his first kiss, and he had to share it with a guy. No, not even share, because that jerk just went and took it from him, without any consent from Sam. He felt a bit queasy, and there was also this odd tingling sensation which he couldn’t quite identify, but anyway that was so wrong and just so revolting that he seriously needed a few moments to just calm down and stop shuddering, because just ew.

Then he sighed and wandered over to the cable, feeling the nervousness as it came back and tried tugging him away from the dangerous-looking cable, but Sam stilled himself. He clenched his fists, then opened them and shook his hands, stretching his back and taking deep breaths.

“Okay, let’s do this. You can do this, it’s easy,” he muttered as he grabbed the cable and pulled it down, before getting on his tiptoes and snapping the rather heavy trolley over it. Then he cursed under his breath and suffered for a good moment to disconnect it and quickly attach the remaining two briefcases to the carabiners on his harness, before walking back to the cable and putting that damn trolley on it again.

When that was done, he swallowed thickly and gripped the strap connecting him to the cable with one hand, using the other to balance himself as he climbed over the railing. It squeaked under him, and Sam gasped when his fingers nearly slipped, but managed to steady himself just in time. He let go of the strap and used both his hands as he turned around and stood on the other side of the railing, facing the wall of the border, and as he glanced down, he immediately broke out in cold sweat, which just made his fingers even more slippery.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” Sam was heaving in panic, his arms shaking. “Shit, just jump, oh god, just close your eyes and jump!”

He whined and clenched his jaw hard, then took a deep breath and let go of the metal, his hands shooting up to grab at the harness strap, and then he was falling, sliding forward and gaining speed. Squeezing his eyes shut, he nearly hit his feet against the wall when he glided above it, but since he was doing a good job at curling into a ball from fear, he didn’t have to worry about his ankles breaking. He did open his eyes after a while though, unable to keep them closed when he began slowly turning in place. He panicked and kicked with his legs, hoping to turn back toward the building, but all he achieved with that was to move himself further away from it, now sliding with his back to his destination, and he felt like sobbing in frustration. Instead of wailing like a baby, he started cursing and wiggling, then cursed some more when his body began bouncing up and down thanks to his frantic movements, Sam now sure that the cable was going to snap and he was going to fall.

He was going to break his neck and it would hurt, but not as much as colliding with the hard ground, maybe shatter his skull and break every single bone in his pathetic little body.

He was hyperventilating, going into total hysterics, then cried out in shock when his back hit something hard. He first thought, was sure that he slammed into the building and that he was now stuck, but then suddenly there were two arms wrapping around him and pulling him tight against the thing against his back, something warm and not as solid as a building wall was supposed to be.

“Told ya I’d catch you,” Dean whispered in his ear from behind, which was around when Sam’s shoulders began shaking, not even caring who the boy was as he leaned into the tight hug, just glad and immensely relieved that he was still alive and not a red smudge on a wall.

He let Dean do everything—let the boy detach him from the cable and take the briefcases from him, then pull off his helmet and remove the harness from around his body. Sam stood still while the other got rid of all the equipment, watched as they got shoved back in the duffel with a bit unfocused eyes, and when he managed to calm down as much as he could, he looked around the roof of the building.

It was dark and no flashlights were on, supposedly not to draw any attention to them, but his eyes were getting used to the lack of light quickly. There was a door in the small wall emerging from the middle of the roof, the cable wedged securely in it in a way it wouldn’t slip out. Raphael was in the middle of tugging the cable with the hook out, letting it fall from his hands and slide down the building once it was out. Benny and Dean were lifting a long ladder and taking it to the side of the roof, before carefully lowering and propping it against the vertical wall. The duffel bags and briefcases lay in a heap next to the door, Sam wondering why they weren’t just using that to get down from the building instead of a ladder, but then realized that maybe they weren’t as alone as he thought. Maybe there were people under their feet, going on about their lives without the slightest knowledge of what was going on above their heads, on this roof, and so maybe it would be a good idea to keep it that way.

That made him curious about their location and he looked around, gazed far out into the darkness, but couldn’t see much aside from the border wall behind him. No trees, no buildings whatsoever—there was nothing on this side, as if the wall wasn’t separating two countries but more like two completely different worlds, one belonging to edifices, of a life of asphalt and cement, and the other flooded by dry land and nature, by sandy washes and desert vegetation. The night air was still cold, though, no matter the change in surroundings, and Sam even found himself needing to rub his arms to keep himself warm, his closed jacket not really helping.

After a while of silence, of nobody talking and each of them busying themselves with a task of their own, Sam decided to voice his curious questions, but instead of going to Benny or Dean, he walked over to Raphael. He hadn’t talked to him yet, and even though the man seemed a bit intimidating, honestly, who in this crew didn’t?

Raphael was looking out at the vast land surrounding them through a pair of binoculars as Sam stopped next to him, waiting until the man lowered the device before asking, “Where are we?”

He stared at Sam for a second, his gaze hard but unreadable. “Mexico,” he stated the obvious, then added, “on top of one of the many homeless shelters running along the border.”

“A homeless shelter…?” Sam furrowed his brow as he tried to remember how the building looked like from the cabin. It was run-down and not that big, with glassless windows and yeah, he could imagine this being a shelter, but it was still odd. “Why here?” he asked, motioning to the wall’s direction. “Why would they build a shelter at the border? Wouldn’t that just encourage trespassing?”

“They didn’t build it with the thought of creating a shelter in their mind. The homeless simply took it,” he explained as he slid the binocular back in its case. “It was supposed to be like that security watchtower on the other side. It was meant for the guards, at first. But there was a shooting some years back, killing and injuring many officers along with civilians, and the government didn’t feel like fixing the damages. So the building stayed like this, vacant and soon claimed by vegetation and some wild, wandering animals. Then it became a shelter for those that had no home, those that tried to cross the border but failed. There aren’t many homeless in the building, as it has no water or electricity, but since it has a roof and four walls, it’s good enough for a few days.”

“How many are here now?” Sam asked, suddenly very aware of the people in the building under his feet.

“I counted six when I scanned the area.”

Sam nodded, then was frowning again. “Wait, so there are no guards on this side anymore?”

“Not permanently,” Raphael answered. “But they do patrol around this area, so I suggest we hurry up.”

“Oh, right,” he agreed and stepped out of the way to let the man past, watching as he walked over to the ladder, testing it with his foot before climbing down.

He wandered over to the edge of the building and looked down, then wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t a long drop, thank god, but it still looked painful. Very painful. He really hoped that the ladder wouldn’t chose that exact moment when Sam would step on it to break and give way under his feet.

“Alright,” he suddenly heard Benny say, Sam turning toward the man who was looking at him and Dean, “once I’m down, I want you boys to throw the stuff. We’ll catch them, so don’t worry about that, but try not to aim for my head, okay?”

“Gotcha,” Dean confirmed with a sly smile, the man just rolling his eyes and shaking his head before moving over to the ladder and beginning to climb down.

While he was going down, Sam and Dean headed toward the pile of briefcases and bags and picked up a few of them, then brought them over to the ladder, waiting for Benny to reach the ground. And while they stood there in silence, Sam tried to ignore the boy’s gaze. It was like a heavy weight on his skin, Sam’s whole being sensing Dean’s eye on him, just watching, staring like he was intent on burning a hole in every inch of his body.

“Would you stop?” he blurted after a while, unable to take it anymore.

“Stop what?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows at the younger boy when he shot him a glare.

“You know what,” Sam hissed, suddenly feeling even more annoyed when the other grinned.

“So now I’m not even allowed to look at you?” The boy chuckled, taking a step toward Sam. “Is this what I get for spoiling you?”

He blinked, eyes widening incredulously then narrowing in irritation. “Spoiling? When did you ever do that? If anything, you keep harassing me, Dean! You even…even…” he mumbled, not wanting to say it out loud, as that would make it real, too real.

Dean seemed to be bent on making him say the word, though, as he was leaning forward and getting down to Sam’s level, tilting his head and feigning curiosity. “Hmm? Even what, Sammy?”

Cheeks suddenly on fire, he averted his eyes and backed away. “Nothin’, shuddup.”

Before Dean could’ve teased him some more, they heard Benny’s voice coming from below. “Get the cargo moving, boys!” he shouted as quietly as possible, and when Sam tentatively gazed back, he saw Dean moving away from him and tossing the briefcases down to the men waiting on the ground.

Sighing, Sam followed suit and walked between the stack and the ladder, letting the cases fall and land in either Benny’s or Raphael’s hands. This was his life now; he would just have to endure Dean’s constant harassment. Great, Sam was overjoyed. He worked fast, reluctantly helping the boy when it was time to drop the duffel bags and secretly wishing that the other would just trip, lose his balance and fall from the roof. It wouldn’t have killed him, Sam was pretty sure, so he wasn’t exactly thinking any murderous thoughts. Just some really, very painful ones.

“Alright, hurry up!” he heard Raphael’s voice urging, and this time it was louder, his voice carrying a hint of impatience, and not the good kind.

He let Dean go first, though it wasn’t like he had much choice. The boy practically forced himself forward, not even giving Sam the time to get close to the ladder before he was already on it, flashing a quick smirk at him and turning around, then he was climbing down. Sam didn’t want to stay on the roof for too long, so he waited until there was enough space at the top of the ladder before he was crouching down, ready to start his descent down the ladder.

It was as he put his foot on the first step when the real shouting began.

“Fuck, come on, climb faster!” Benny was yelling hurriedly now, successfully making Sam panic and wonder if they got busted or something.

Everything became clear when he turned his head around to look back over his shoulder, and noticed the car coming their way, fast. It was stirring up and leaving a cloud of dust behind itself as it drove toward the building with alarming speed, the blazing headlights making it impossible for Sam to see who was driving, or how many people were in the car, which now that it was getting closer, he realized was a large jeep.

Dean cursed under him and began climbing faster, while Benny and Raphael were hoarding the briefcases into another van parked right next to the building. Sam’s fingers tightened on the rusty ladder, every second he waited while the boy climbed seeming like minutes, painstakingly slow. The car was really close now, and getting even closer, and he had no idea how they were supposed to escape now. They would get arrested, oh god Sam would have to go to jail, and he hasn’t even done anything. Well, nothing he really gave his consent to, nothing he wanted to do.

These panicked thoughts swirled through his mind as he went down, the ladder seemingly stretching away forever, but then all of the nightmares about jail and electric chairs halted and dispersed as the first bullet hit the wall inches away from where he was standing on the ladder.

“Shit, they’re shooting at us!” Benny backed away from the van and then he and the other man were running into the building through the open doorway, taking cover from the sudden gunshots and, after a brief moment, returning fire.

And Sam was just hanging from a ladder in the middle of a fucking shootout.

Finally reaching them, the car skidded to a stop, and four uniformed men jumped out, not even waiting until their feet hit the ground before opening fire. Sam yelped as a bulled whizzed past his ear and another ricocheted from the ladder. Raphael and Benny were taking care of the guards, though, managing to kill one and injure another in less than a minute, but that wasn’t enough. Glancing down, he watched as Dean struggled with the steps, climbing even faster now, and just as the passing thought that it was a miracle that none of them were bleeding yet crossed Sam’s mind, the boy under him cried out as a bullet entered his shoulder, then fell. His eyes widened as he stared down at Dean, who was now groaning and cursing loudly on the ground, trying to scramble to his feet, but one of the guards or officers, or whoever these merciless people were, was already stomping over to the boy, raising his gun and pointing it at the figure on the ground.

Sam was still high enough to go back. He could climb up to safety, hide out on top of the roof until it was over. He certainly wasn’t going to keep going down, not with the murderous men waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder. And he was still new to all this, his heart not really taking the situation well as it was beating so damn fast Sam was pretty sure it would bail on him, or simply stop, give up from the amount of fear he was experiencing right now. It felt like time slowed down, stopped as he stood on the ladder, his mind working overtime and going into overdrive as he thought, tried to decide what to do. Run or fight? Hide, or risk a bullet to the head and end up like that guard at the watchtower? Which one? Damn it, what was he supposed to do?!

His hands trembled, his palm slippery with sweat as he tightened his hold on the ladder, holding on with that one hand as he used the other to swiftly reach for the gun in the holster. Pulling it out all the while wondering if this was worth it, if risking his life for that asshole on the ground was really worth it, he disengaged the safety on the gun and turned sideways on the ladder, quickly aiming at the man walking toward Dean. He didn’t think, couldn’t bring himself to think about what he was about to do as he did it, and then he pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the ground next to the man, Sam missing his chest. He didn’t kill him, but at least managed to draw his attention away from Dean—which also meant that the man was now raising his gun at Sam, looking angry as hell. Cursing, he went all out, survival a bit more important at the moment than murder. He squeezed off several more shots, hitting the man once in his arm that was holding the gun—successfully making him drop it—and once in his chest, which sent him staggering back. The gun didn’t get knocked out of his hand before he could’ve hit Sam, though, but thankfully the bullet merely grazed his side. That did not mean that it didn’t hurt like a motherfucker, Sam grunting in pain as he felt his skin getting torn by the fast projectile.

The man fell to the ground after either Benny or Raphael shot him in the face, dead, and Dean managed to finally stand up. He looked a bit dazed and was limping, blood trickling out from under his leather jacket and down his pants. And Sam felt relieved, if only just a bit, then his eyes widened as he saw the fourth and last man still standing, saw him go up behind Dean just as the boy turned around. He ducked and landed a brutal kick to the man’s shin, but then was kneeling on the ground after the furious man punched him in the gut. He was going to shoot Dean, didn’t even seem fazed when a shot rang out from inside the building and he got hit in the shoulder, just kept his aim on the boy and—

Sam’s eyes widened and he felt the blood drain from his face when he pulled his own gun’s trigger, hearing the sound of the hammer hitting an empty chamber. Not having enough time to come up with something else, he hurled the gun at the man. It hit him in the head pretty loudly, which was nice; but the effort and force Sam used to throw the weapon made him lean forward, way too forward, and then suddenly his fingers were slipping. He gasped, turning back and frantically trying to get a hold of the ladder, but it was too late. His hand already slipped and he began falling, the ground coming up quick to meet him, and this really wasn’t good because he was turning and falling head first, and fuck, he was falling!

The pain was brief, as the darkness was there to pounce on him and drag him down, Sam vaguely aware of someone shouting his name before he gave in and lost consciousness.

 


	8. Cat And Mouse

 

He had a dream. Well no, it was more like a nightmare.

Just like most dreams, this one wasn’t making any sense either. Sam didn’t know where he was, but the house felt strangely familiar. He wondered why. Then suddenly he was in a room on fire, but his initial panic died down after he realized that the flames couldn’t hurt him, weren’t burning him. Something landed on his cheek, and when he wiped it away, his fingers came away bloody.

The last thing he remembered was looking up at the ceiling and seeing a large smudge of crimson blood.

Groaning in pain, Sam shifted where he lay on something soft. His eyes fluttered open and he blinked away the last memories of the dream, reality suddenly pulling him back. He frowned, then stopped when he realized that just made his already aching head hurt more, so then he decided to just close his eyes again and go back to sleep.

But then he suddenly remembered what happened and his eyes flew open again.

He remembered he fell. He was certain that he did, he let go of that damn ladder and dropped like some ragdoll. But what happened after? No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t remember; but as he finally looked about himself, he had a pretty good idea why he couldn’t recall anything. 

He was lying in something that looked a lot like a hospital bed, but he wasn’t going to get his hopes up. He knew he wasn’t in an actual hospital, as those wouldn’t allow weapons in their patients’ rooms, and there was a gun lying on one of the counters, no mistaking it. Pulling himself up a bit so that he was leaning on his elbows, he studied his surroundings. He was in a smaller room, its floor and walls made of white tiles, except for what Sam was pretty sure was a light blue curtain behind him. There was a line of counters, drawers, and cabinets running along one of the walls and continuing until the middle of the one opposite Sam, filled with all sorts of pills and medical-looking stuff. Aside from the bed he was half-lying, half-sitting on, there were three more in the room, two with their headboards against the left wall, and one to his right, only a few feet away from him. The sheets on that one were all messed up, and so was the pillow, as if someone had been lying on them, so Sam guessed he wasn’t the only one needing medical attention.

That made him wonder why he lost consciousness. Did he really hit his head that hard? Raising a curious hand to his head, he felt his fingers brushing against something thin and cottony, some sort of cloth that went around his head, Sam wincing when his fingers reached the back of his skull. If he needed bandages for his head, then it surely couldn’t have been a nice fall, and since now his head was hurting even more, he was positive that he managed to land in a way that left a bleeding gash on it.

He checked the rest of his body, which was feeling rather sore and also hurting here and there. He had another bandage on his side, this one attached to his skin with medical tapes, and even though he was kind of curious how big of a wound the bullet made in his flesh, he didn’t feel like ripping the bandage off just to find out, and maybe regret it. Noticing that, by the way, his jacket was gone and his shirt had been unbuttoned, Sam removed the blanket from his body and checked if he at least still had his pants, and sighed in relief when he saw them still on him. His shoes were gone too, though, but he didn’t really care about them.

Just as he was wondering who bandaged him up, he heard a rustle coming from the other side of the curtain. Craning his neck, Sam turned in the bed and looked for a shadow moving behind the thin veil, but couldn’t see anything. He thought about calling out, but he honestly doubted he’d be happy to see anyone who came through that curtain, unless it was a police officer telling him that he was fine and ready to go home.

What home, though…?

“Hey, you’re up.” Sam snapped back to reality at the sudden voice coming from next to his bed. He blinked up at the boy who was moving the curtain out of the way as he stepped inside of the makeshift hospital room, stopping next to Sam’s bed and giving him a half-smile. “I was starting to get worried you’d be out forever, sleeping beauty.”

He frowned, rubbing his temple with his thumb. “How long have I been out?” he asked, then suddenly as if a dam broke in his brain, his mind was filling with question, so many Sam couldn’t keep them in. “What happened? How did I get back here? Who were those men? When—”

“Whoa, slow down,” Dean said with a small chuckle, then moved to the bed next to his and sat down, facing Sam. It was only then that he realized the boy was only in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white tank top, one of its straps hanging from Dean’s shoulder and revealing a wound there. It was too small to be the gunshot wound, also seeming like it was made a few days ago, and for some reason Sam couldn’t take his eyes off it.

He didn’t know how long he must have been staring before he lifted his gaze to Dean’s face, but when he did, the boy was grinning at him smugly, Sam suddenly feeling incredibly embarrassed and looking away, quickly clearing his throat.

“U-Uh, so, what exactly happened?” he asked, still not making eye contact with the other.

“Well, after you fell and blacked out, we killed the remaining guard. Yeah, those were security guards. Not the friendliest kind, but those types exist too, unfortunately for us,” he explained with a sigh. “Then we split up, Benny taking the car with the weapons to the place where we were supposed to drop it off, while Raphael and I brought you back to the warehouse.”

“How did you come back? Across the border, I mean…” Sam looked back at Dean now, curious.

The boy met his eyes and smiled. “Wasn’t easy. We had to use the cable to climb up the wall, since it was still attached to the cabin, and having to drag you along just made that already hard task harder. But thankfully you’re kinda light, so it was pretty easy carrying you around.”

Oh great, so Dean had to carry him like some pirate version of a knight in shining armor.

“You were sleeping for some good six hours,” the boy continued, “while the rest of us got rid of the bodies. Well, no… Benny did that. Raphael explained what happened to Nick, and I took care of you.”

“Took care of me?” Sam frowned at him.

Dean nodded. “Yep, bandaged you up and all,” he said, tilting his head slightly to the side as his smile widened into a grin and his eye darkened, slowly moving from Sam’s face down to his exposed chest. “And I ain’t a nurse, but I think I did a pretty good job.”

Sam, realizing what the other was looking at, quickly grabbed for the blanket, but the sudden movement made him wince, so he just flopped back against the bed’s headrest and began buttoning his shirt. His fingers worked fast, his shirt covering his bare chest in a matter of seconds, and when he finally shifted his gaze back to Dean, he saw him leaning back on his hands and still grinning.

Then he heard the bed creak as the boy stood up and walked over to him, Sam immediately tensing and then moving away when Dean sat down on the side of his bed, placing a bent leg on the mattress as he turned around to look at him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, surprising Sam with the genuine concern in his voice. It could have been faked, of course it could, but he couldn’t think of a reason why Dean would try to fake kindness, so for now, he chose to believe he honestly cared. Maybe.

He trailed his fingers along the bandage on the back of his head, careful this time, all the while looking at a random spot on his jeans. “My head feels as if an elephant had trampled over it, and my body’s pretty sore, especially my right hand. I forgot how powerful of a recoil a semiautomatic has,” he said, feeling a bit nervous and awkward for some reason, then slowly raised his eyes to look at Dean, and fine, maybe he was a little bit concerned for the boy as well. “What about you? One of them got you in the shoulder, right?”

Dean let out a short sigh while smiling, easing back a bit as he took a hold of the hem of his top and pulled it over his head, Sam noticing how that made him twist his face in pain and visibly clench his jaw, but the boy didn’t let it stop him. He turned around, revealing a similar bandage as the one Sam had on his side, however this one was on Dean’s shoulder and was a bit bigger.

“Got Ruby to pull the bullet out a few hours ago,” Dean told him as he looked back over his shoulder to glance at him. “It’s better now, but that might be just the pain meds.” He turned back, and it actually caused Sam some physical effort not to stare. The boy in front of him might have been a jerk and all, but he had a great body. As in the toned chest, broad shoulders, strong-looking biceps, and almost fully developed six-pack kind of great body. The same sort of light freckles were dusting his chest as the ones on his cheeks, some darker, while others nearly disappeared in the soft honey color of the boy’s tanned skin. Sam always dreamed of having a body like that when he grew up, when he’d reach Dean’s age, and he felt himself getting jealous, suddenly curious if the skin was as soft and warm as it looked.

Dean’s low chuckle made him realize just what exactly he was doing, staring openly at the boy’s naked skin. His breath actually hitched and his eyes widened, quickly looking back at the other’s face, but then he wished he hadn’t.

“You know your eyes might fall out if you stare too hard, Sammy,” the boy purred, slowly and almost lazily crawling on the bed, and took a hold of Sam’s waist when he tried to back further away, maybe even just jump out of the bed and make a run for it.

He felt all of his muscles tense up as Dean used both hands to pull him down, lower him completely into the bed, and then he took a breath and kept it in, unable to let it out while the other hovered over him. Then he was leaning in, moving a hand to cup Sam’s cheek, but he quickly shook his head and tilted it to the side, away from the suddenly way too close boy.

“What?” Dean’s hot breath against his skin as he ran his lush lips along Sam’s exposed neck made him shiver, and crap, he couldn’t move anymore, his breathing shallow, soft trembles of nervousness and something else rippling through his body. “You’re acting like you’ve never been kissed before,” the boy whispered against the skin beneath his ear, while the hand on his skin slid down, a finger teasingly dipping in the hollow of his throat.

Sam bit down on his bottom lip and made a small sound, maybe a whimper, maybe not. He had to push Dean away, but what he said was annoying him. Never kissed before? Of course he hadn’t—Dean was the first, the one who forced his lips on Sam’s, forcefully taking what never belonged to him.

It was that feeling of exasperation that made him open his mouth, made them form words, no matter how quiet they were. “I haven’t…”

That stopped Dean, making him pull back and look at Sam with a slightly wide, surprised eye. “Wait, what?” he asked, and the younger boy could pinpoint the exact moment realization sank in and Dean understood. “You’re telling me that was your first kiss?” He stared at him, stunned.

Sam felt himself blush even more, unconsciously licking his lips as he averted his eyes. “W-Well yeah, it was. Why’s that so shocking…?”

He waited for a long moment, but when the other still didn’t answer, he slowly looked back at him, immediately feeling like some miserable, cornered prey. Dean was grinning wickedly, his eye glinting with something dark and dominating, the boy looking dangerously pleased in a way.

“I thought that someone like you would have at least kissed before, but if you haven’t even done that…” Dean’s voice trailed off as he let his eye roam Sam’s body, licking his lips hungrily and making the other boy become extremely aware of every little move he made, every breath he took under that one penetrating and all-seeing eye. Then he gasped and stared up at the ceiling with wide, terrified eyes when Dean suddenly dropped back to his neck, but instead of there, Sam felt a wet tongue on his ear. “Then I’ll be taking each and every single one of your firsts, Sammy,” he whispered, before flicking his earlobe with the warm flesh, then began playfully nibbling on it, successfully driving Sam mad.

He whimpered, now was a hundred percent sure that the soft, weak sound that escaped his lips was a whimper, and arched his back, tilting his head back and closing his eyes; however the sharp pain shooting down from the back of his head as he did that brought him back to his senses, Sam suddenly realizing what he was doing, and immediately freaked.

“Stop!” he whined, really, he would have only been lying to himself if he thought he shouted the word as he shoved Dean away. The boy didn’t really protest, just letting out an amused laugh as he got off the bed and licked his lips, watching as Sam sat up and backed completely into the headboard, pressing his back into the metal until it hurt. “Why can’t you just leave me alone already?!” Sam demanded, hugging himself and feeling strangely weak, the confusing and persistent heat that was melting him from the inside out refusing to go away.

“Why?” Dean raised an eyebrow at him, then threw his head back as he let out another laugh. “It’s simple,” he said after he was done, striding back to Sam’s bed and grabbing the headrest. “Because I don’t want to. Because I feel like touching you, because it’s fun and your reactions are simply priceless.”

Blinking incredulously, Sam glowered at him. “Those aren’t even close to good reasons!”

Dean just shrugged. “They are for me,” he stated, then kept his gaze on Sam for such a long moment he thought to boy was trying to murder him with his piercing eye or something, but then he was talking again, this time using the same genuine voice he’d heard him use before. “Hey I…never said thanks, did I?”

“Huh?” Sam asked in confusion, didn’t know what Dean was talking about, though he wasn’t sure what that weirdo boy was going on about like half the time, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

“Well, you sorta saved my life. Twice in a row,” he said, then furrowed his brow as he looked at the bandage wrapped around Sam’s head. “And nearly broke your neck.”

“I didn’t fall from the ladder _for_ you,” he scoffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “And it’s not like I had another choice. I wasn’t saving you, but myself,” Sam lied, wasn’t completely sure why he was lying, but for some reason couldn’t stand the thought of Dean knowing the truth, that he did indeed risk his life for him. Even he wasn’t sure why he did that in the first place, so he really didn’t need Dean finding out and turning even more smug and unbearable than he already was.

The boy smiled down at him, a smile that quickly turned into a grin as he patted Sam’s shoulder, then pulled away and picked up his shirt from the bed, putting it back on. “Sure,” was all he said, winking at the annoyed boy on the bed as he walked to the curtains, but just before disappearing behind the thin drapes, he paused and added, “thank you.”

And Sam would have never admitted it to himself, but those words made him feel a brief happiness, the kind he hadn’t felt in days.

That vanished fairly quickly though, replaced by a cocktail of emotions that just confused him. Deciding on only focusing on the feelings he recognized and knew very well, Sam let out a frustrated sigh, then shivered at the memory of something soft and wet, something so very warm against his ear. He shook his head, wiping his ear with the sleeve of his shirt, then laid back down on the bed, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over his head.

Okay, so Dean just threatened to honest-to-god sexually assault him.

Well, okay fine, that was kind of an exaggeration. But he said he would take all of Sam’s firsts, which basically translated to…what? That he would take him on his first date? Or be the one to…

Sam’s eyes widened as an image flashed before his eyes, an image of two naked bodies, and then he was covering his face and groaning, feeling like heat was literally radiating from inside him or something. God, it really did seem that Dean was bent on traumatizing him for life, subjecting him to his relentless teasing that apparently knew no boundaries. These days the boy was always the reason for his worries. Sam wasn’t thinking about the situation he was in, of a way to escape and gain freedom, but about the next time he’d be forced to see Dean and that sly grin that was seemingly stuck on his face. And that wasn’t good. He couldn’t spend his days being nervous because of someone like him, damn it. There were so many other things he needed to consider, like how he nearly murdered someone today, even that because of Dean. No matter what, it was always because of Dean, for Dean, thanks to Dean, _Dean_ everywhere—and Sam was seriously starting to lose it.

Yep, it was time he avoided the hell out of that jerk.

Taking a nice, long and deep breath, he made up his mind and removed the blanket from his head, though not his body. He didn’t feel like leaving this room yet, plus he was still feeling somewhat drowsy and weak, lying in bed for a couple more minutes seeming like a perfect idea to him right now.

Those couple of minutes quickly turned into an hour, but by then Sam felt slightly better. His head was still hurting, the wound a dull ache on the back of his skull, and his side did too whenever he twisted and turned his body too much, but he would live.

He slowly and very carefully climbed out of the bed and put on his shoes, then after taking one last glance around the room, he parted the curtains and stepped into a completely different room. Well, the floor and the walls were still the same, but it’s what filled this part of the room which differed from the makeshift little hospital behind him. One of the walls were lined up with washing machines, while another one had several drying racks situated next to it, with some clothes—along with what Sam was pretty sure was Dean’s shirt—hanging from them. In the middle of the room were two wooden benches, parallel to each other, and hey look, there was his jacket. He made his way to one of the benches and pulled on his moss green jacket, tugging it tightly around himself as he wandered over to the door. If he was correct in his theory, then he was quite certain that this was the fourth door on the ground floor, the one on the right wall and probably facing what Sam discovered not long ago to be the armory.

That helped him make up a battle plan, decide what to do once he was out of the room. He was going to go out and quickly get to the stairs above him, then with the speed of sound, he was going to dart toward his door and lock himself in his room. Perfect plan, since he wasn’t feeling like mingling with anyone right now, though really, when was he? Steeling his resolve, Sam went over the plan once again in his head before opening the door. Everything went smoothly and he even nearly got to the stairs, but of course, someone just had to call out his name and force him to stop.

Shifting his gaze from the inviting door of his room to the man walking up to him, Sam felt a sudden dread rise in him. It was Nick, and he had one of those smiles plastered across his face, the kind that really creeped Sam out.

The man stopped in front of him and nodded to the bandage on his head. “Had quite an impressive fall, haven’t you?”

Sam shrugged, suddenly uneasy, then realized that maybe he should say something. “It wasn’t that bad…” he said, then slid his hands in his pants pockets and averted his eyes, because he has successfully managed to create an awkward silence. It was a talent.

“How modest,” Nick said finally, making Sam look back at him, then leaned against the railing with a low chuckle. “You know, you don’t have to be. You should feel proud about what happened, about what you did. I certainly am.”

He didn’t know what to answer to that, so he didn’t.

While the man waited for an answer that Sam wasn’t going to give him, someone had come out of a room and was staring at them. He could feel it, and when he cast a quick glance to his left, the previous dread inside him became stronger, turned into a powerful wave that came crashing over him when he saw Dean standing by the sofa, looking eager to come over as soon as Nick was gone.

That made him want the man to never leave, and suddenly he was talking, had so much to say. “Um, I just did what everyone else would’ve, it’s really nothing,” he babbled, swallowing anxiously as he forced himself to keep his eyes on Nick, to keep looking at him instead of the wolf he knew was still staring at him, ready to pounce.

Nick smiled again, stepping closer to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, but Sam wasn’t soothed by the touch at all, his muscles tensing up instead. “You could have ran, Sam. You could have done so many things, but chose to pull out the gun and behave like one of us, like a real smuggler,” he said, slightly tightening his hold on the boy’s shoulder and looking right at him, his gaze so intent and piercing it made Sam forget about Dean altogether, feeling like now he couldn’t look away from the man even if he wanted to. “I appreciate that, and would like to see you continue like that. Do not disappoint me.”

“I-I won’t.” Sam was nodding instinctively, and couldn’t help but let out a silent sigh when the strangely heavy weight of Nick’s hand was gone from his shoulder.

“Glad to hear that,” the man stated, returning the other’s nod, then just walked past him, Sam turning around to watch him exit the warehouse and wondering where he could be going. Probably some criminal business, he thought, then as he turned back, he nearly freaking yelped when he saw Dean heading over to him with long strides.

Nope.

Sam spun around like a ballerina and used the railing to pull himself up the stairs faster, quite literally sprinting up the steps and watching as the boy stopped and shot him an annoyed look.

“Sam, come on,” Dean groaned, grabbing the metal bar and smirking up at Sam, who was already at the top of the stairs. “You can’t run from me forever, you know.”

He frowned, huffing. “Watch me!” he snarled, then quickly flipped the boy off for good measure, before turning his back to him and yanking his door open.

Quickly locking himself inside, Sam closed his eyes and sighed in relief. He felt a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he imagined how disappointed Dean will be when he’d prove him wrong. Can’t run forever? Well, challenge accepted. He was already planning on ignoring and avoiding the boy, but now he was certain that he’d do just that. He could be sneaky and cunning when he wanted to, and he was pretty sure that if he tried hard enough, if he’d really give it his all, then he might not even have to cross paths with that bastard ever again. The thought alone made him excited and happy, Sam looking forward to the next few Dean-less days.

He had to stay true to his word and do it, do this, for so many reasons; but most of all, because he was terrified to even imagine what would happen if Dean ever managed to get his hands on him again…

**—**

 

He was a true born ninja for sure.

That day, after he locked the door, Sam took a quick shower while making sure not to get any water on his bandages, which was a much harder task than he expected, but he still managed to succeed after a long time. When he was done with that and got into some fresh clothes, he went back to reading, finishing the newest book he found. It was about a man sucked into the world of monsters and hunters, Sam immediately falling in love with the story from the very first sentence. He just reached the point where two MCB agents visited the main character in the hospital, threatening him with a gun, when he both heard and felt his stomach growl.

Groaning, he got up from the bed and opened his door, scanning the perimeter of the warehouse in search for any pirates, and when none were found, he stalked to the kitchen. He did meet Benny and Ruby in there, and had a brief conversation with them, a bit surprised when he found himself laughing at a story the woman told him, before grabbing some food and going back to his room. He brought enough to last him for that day, plus some bottled water, so after his visit to the kitchen, he didn’t leave his room.

That was day one.

Day two and three proved to be a bit more risky, with some close calls Sam barely escaped from. He never left his room for socializing purposes, only when he ran out of food or water, but when his head began itching and bothering him, he knew it was time to change the bandages. He could only see Raphael sunk in one of the armchairs when he peered through the ajar door, however right before he could’ve stepped out onto the catwalk, he saw Dean emerging from the kitchen and flopping into the sofa, before turning on the TV. Wondering if he should risk it, Sam kept his eyes on the boy for a long moment, then decided that, fuck it, the medical room was right under him, he could totally make it.

So he slipped his shoes off and closed the door behind himself as silently as possible, then crept down the stairs in a crouching position, always on the lookout and ready to shush anyone who tried to give him away. Once before the door leading to the washing-medical room combo, he turned the handle painstakingly slowly, watching the unsuspecting boy as he slipped inside like a skillful snake, then hurriedly changed the bandages on his head and side, pulling a face when he saw just how nasty the wound there was. It had also been stitched, but it didn’t look like Sam needed to remove them yet, so he just—gently—slapped on some bandages and was out of the room before Dean could’ve noticed him. He did, right as Sam was opening the door to his room, the younger boy unable to stop himself from flashing the other a smug grin before shutting the door behind himself.

Later that day, he needed to leave again, this time because he had successfully managed to spill his water. Sam facepalmed himself, unable to believe his level of clumsiness, and while there was still some water left in the bottle, he was thirsty and finished it rather fast. He chose to wait until nightfall before venturing out again, keeping his growing thirst at bay by focusing on reading. When it was dark enough and he couldn’t hear anyone playing table tennis anymore, he shuffled down the stairs with bare feet and in his pajamas, rather quickly regretting his decision when he began shivering from the cold cement under his feet, the skin there freezing and sending violent chills all across Sam’s body. He tried walking on his tiptoes, which helped, but only a little, and swiftly grabbed a one liter bottle.

When he was going back to his room, he noticed Dean leaning against his door and smirking down at him.

“Hey there,” the boy drawled, a complacent smirk crossing his face as he slowly went down the stairs, while Sam was cursing and hugging the bottle to his chest as he scurried over to the sofa.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping or something?” Sam asked, glaring daggers at the boy when he stopped on the other side of the sofa. “You know showing up at night like this is creepy. You’re creepy.”

Dean chuckled, taking careful steps around the furniture between them, Sam immediately moving too and putting back the distance the boy was trying to close. “Look at the pot calling the kettle black. I don’t see _you_ sleeping in your room, do I?”

“Yeah well, I have a reason,” he asserted, tightening his hold on the bottle as they circled around the sofa, slowly while never breaking eye contact. “What’s yours?”

“You,” Dean purred, suddenly stopping and climbing over the couch, grabbing at Sam. Eyes widening in surprise, he backed away at warp speed, nearly tripping over his own two feet, then spun on his heel and bolted for the stairs. He could hear the boy running after him, but thankfully he was faster and reached the top of the stairs just as Dean began climbing them, then in his panic induced state, Sam only thought of survival as he let go of the bottle and watched as it bounced down the steel steps, halting the other’s ascent.

He flashed a self-satisfied grin at Dean, then when he saw the pissed off look on his face, Sam gulped and patted at the brick wall until he felt the smooth surface of the door, rapidly disappearing behind it. Once he made sure he locked the door, he listened to the boy walking upstairs and doing something in front of his room, before his steps moved off to the right, gradually turning quieter before stopping completely.

Sam waited more than ten minutes before he opened the door and found the discarded bottle of water in front of his room.

Next time he emerged, the boy was once again nowhere to be found, which couldn’t have been said about Ruby who, when Sam made a beeline to the kitchen while trying real hard to appear invisible, caught him and wouldn’t leave him alone until he played a round of table tennis with her. He couldn’t really refuse, plus the faster he succumbed to the woman’s nagging, the sooner he’d be back in his room, so he picked up the small, round bat with a sigh and hit the surprisingly light ball. After several failed attempts where he couldn’t get the damn thing past the net, they finally managed to play a very short game, Sam actually having a bit of fun by the end of it.

He was about to turn around and head to the kitchen, when he saw the door to Dean’s room opening. The boy walked out and strolled over to the stairs, raising his arms above his head and stretching, fortunately not seeming to notice Sam yet. That could’ve changed any second, though, so he improvised and knelt down, crawling under the freaking ping pong table and hiding there. He held his breath and folded his body, hoping that Ruby would be a good sport and not give him away.

When Dean sat down on the sofa without even a glance at the table, Sam let himself relax, but only a little. Getting from under the table to the kitchen, then from there back to his room wouldn’t be easy, but since he was awesome, he could do it.

Then he bumped his head into the edge of the table, loudly, and could hear his hopes getting crushed to pieces.

He was prepared to run as soon as Dean looked back, but found that he didn’t have to. He watched, stunned, as Ruby winked at him and walked over to the boy on the couch, sitting down next to him and starting up a conversation, as if distracting him. When Sam realized that she was indeed distracting Dean for his behalf, he quickly scrambled to his feet and sneaked into the kitchen, grabbed what he needed, then was halfway up the stairs when the boy finally noticed him. He cursed and tried to sit up, but Ruby actually grabbed him and shouted for Sam to run, that and the baffled look on Dean’s face making him laugh out loud.

The day after that he didn’t leave the room at all, and when he came out the one following that, Dean wasn’t there to bother him.

As he lay in bed now, Sam wondered how many days have passed since he’s been forced to live here. He couldn’t have been sure, but he counted a week. A week since these people dragged him out of his home and killed his dad. That sudden and dark thought made him realize that he’d spent the last few days just running around and hiding from Dean, sometimes even having a brief chat with Ruby or Benny and, when he wasn’t slumped in a chair, even Raphael.

“What the hell…” Sam sighed, rubbing his face. He was supposed to focus on escaping, thinking of a way of giving them the slip, not start socializing. Instead of his biggest worry being not to be seen by Dean, he should be coming up with another plan, his previous one an obvious failure. The great escape number three, which had to work, had to be perfect, as he couldn’t afford another mistake. Third time’s the charm, right?

Still, how? And should he, really? Where would he run? Sam had no real home anymore, so even if he could somehow manage to get away and be collected by the authorities, wouldn’t they just put him in an orphanage? He didn’t want that, could guess what happened to those kids who were too old to get adopted. He’d just end up on the streets and maybe even have resort to theft, becoming the very thing he was trying to run from here. It seemed as if every road was leading to that very result, to him becoming a delinquent, no matter how desperately Sam wished otherwise.

But then what was he supposed to do? Just…give up on living a normal life whatsoever and accept these people as his new family? Seriously? No, no way. He couldn’t do that. They could never become family. A woman who was kind to him but still a criminal, the man who killed his father, a man who hated him and would have loved to beat him up, another who was the boss of a criminal gang, someone who was quiet but certainly deadly, and a boy who had already kissed him and seemed ready to do much more. How could he ever call that a family? What a joke. Sure, life after escaping might not be as bright and cheerful as Sam might expect, but it sure as hell would beat this.

Sitting up in bed, he squinted into the darkness to look at the clock. It was half past midnight, a time when some of the group might still be awake, but usually the whole warehouse was asleep by two in the morning. He shifted and threw his legs over the side of the bed, planting his bare feet on the soft carpeted floor as he sat there, thinking. He was already in his pajamas—which consisted of a pair of comfortable dark blue checkered pants and a matching shirt—ready to sleep, but now his mind was fully awake and concocting up one scenario after another. Maybe now, he could actually escape. Should he go for it, though? If he got caught…

Well, he’d just have to make sure not to get caught.

Which meant he couldn’t leave through the front door. He really shouldn’t, as the risk of being spotted was way too high there, plus he’d already learned from his previous mistake. Alright, so not the door. But then where? Fly out though the window?

Sam gripped the mattress as he thought, tried to remember the layout of the warehouse, but it was no use. There were no other doors leading outside, at least none that he knew of, and unless he possessed the ability the pass through walls all of a sudden, Sam was stuck. He stood up from the bed and waddled over to the door, unlocking it and peeking out. There was nobody in the large living room thing, but that didn’t mean that no one was awake in their rooms, ready to come barging out at any sound. Sighing silently, he closed the door, locked it and walked back to the bed, about to just flop back down and give up, when an idea struck him.

It was stupid, very dangerous, but it might just be daring enough to work.

Sam quickly moved over to the series of windows. They were all small, but so was he, and if he tried hard enough, he was positive he could squeeze his body through one of them. He opened one of the bottom windows and looked out, before dropping his gaze to the ground and immediately feeling nauseous. It wasn’t as high as the cabin on top of the watchtower, but it sure as hell was high enough to scare the crap out of Sam and make him feel sick. He was not climbing down from here or jumping out the window, unless he planned on falling to his death, this time surely breaking his neck and a lot more. He’d just have to lower himself with something, and as he turned around and walked to his bed, he really hoped his blanket and the sheets would be long enough.

After he removed all of the sheets from the bed, which now looked pretty much like a mess, he began tying them together. He even used the cover from his pillow, just to add a few more centimeters that just might save his legs from getting broken. When that was done, Sam looked down at his masterpiece, getting second thoughts. Would it be long enough? Would he even make it? And then what? But then he shook his head and buried his face in his hands, waiting until he calmed down before taking a deep breath and picking up the makeshift rope. He was going to do this, no buts. When he stepped in front of the window, he wondered where to tie the sheets, as he needed something sturdy and capable of withstanding his weight, but he couldn’t find anything. He could’ve tied it around one of the bed’s legs, but that was too far away, and Sam needed as much of the sheets as he possible. There was also the possibility of securing it to one of the window handles, but those looked like they could easily break with Sam’s weight clinging to them. He didn’t really have any other options, though, so he reluctantly tied one end around the metal handle, making a double knot just to be sure and tightening it as much as he could.

When he was more or less certain that the knot wasn’t going to come untied and was strong enough, he picked up the sheets and tossed them out of the window, watching them fall and then stop. He pulled a face when he leaned out and saw how there was still some space left between the bottom of the sheets and the ground, but fortunately it didn’t seem that long of a drop. If his hands wouldn’t slip and if he could make it to the very bottom, and let go of the sheets then, he could actually land safely and with all of his limbs intact.

Now all he needed to do was climb down, which wasn’t that easy with his fear of heights.

“Alright,” he told himself, sucking in deep breaths and letting the chilly night air fill his lungs with oxygen and his body with courage. “Alright, you can do this. Just climb, it’s easy, child’s play…”

Sam gripped the window frame as he looked down, trying to muster the strength to at least will his body to move. He wouldn’t escape any faster by just standing there, being scared, so after muttering a silent prayer to whoever was listening, he grabbed the sheets and held onto them tightly as he carefully climbed out the window, wincing when he bumped his head against the hard frame. He nearly slipped once, his heart stopping when he thought he was going to fall, then when he was finally on the other side, his arms began trembling from horror and the effort supporting himself took. His legs were just dangling aimlessly under him, the sheets slipping and sliding between his feet each time he tried to wrap his frantic limbs around them, realizing that maybe he should’ve tied some knots on the sheets before. Ah well, too late now.

His palms were sweaty and he nearly gasped when he slid down on the sheets a bit, the skin on his palms now burning. He managed to trap the fabric—which was constantly being blown left and right by the small gusts of wind—between his feet, then forced himself to move, very carefully letting up on the hold he had on the sheets to lower himself. Inch by inch, he climbed down the sheets, and then suddenly there weren’t any more of it by his feet, Sam now trying to press them against the wall and lean back a little, using the sheets to sort of walk backwards down the building. Then when he could already see the bottom of the sheets, he gripped them tighter than ever, straining his muscles as he held his breath and let his legs fall and body dangle—and then he slipped.

This time he did gasp and let out a small cry as he fell to the ground and onto his ass. Groaning, he sat up, then winced. Yep, now his ass hurt. And legs too, as they were the first things that hit the ground, but buckled from the weight of his body. Still, he wasn’t in that much pain, and as he looked up, he saw that the sheets weren’t even that far away. He couldn’t reach them, not even when he got on his tiptoes after finally standing up, or when he jumped with his arm extended, but it wasn’t _that_ high. Not being able to reach it meant that there was no going back now, though, so he had no choice but to commit to the plan. Quickly looking around until he spotted the road and the swarm of houses on the other side, Sam pressed against the wall and guardedly made his way to the front of the warehouse, peeking out from behind the corner, but not seeing anyone.

Now came the hard part. Should he run, or take it slow? Running would get him to safety much faster, but sneaking to the road might be a better idea. Who knew what kind of traps or security they had set up around the warehouse? For all he knew, there could be some sort of minefield under the gravel path leading to the road, that path just a decoy for those who didn’t know better. No, that was just stupid. Sam was getting too worked up, which was understandable, but he needed to stay rational here. So he would run, get as much distance between him and this place as fast as possible, and never look back. It’s not like he would miss it here, miss anyone, so when his chest tightened for a brief moment, he was sure that it wasn’t because of doubt. It couldn’t have been.

He scanned the meadow and the road one last time, before darting out from behind the wall and running like the wind. Running on gravel made him wish he would have put on some shoes, or at least some socks, the way the tiny rocks dug into the soles of his feet and clung to his skin rather painful and uncomfortable, Sam gritting his teeth at each step but pushing on. He wouldn’t let some pain stop him, not now, not when he got this far. But then he reached the road, the smooth asphalt under his feet drawing a sigh of relief out of him, and he quickly bent down to remove the stubborn pebbles that were still stickling to his skin. However as he raised his leg, he noticed his shadow growing, which shouldn’t have been possible because the moonlight wasn’t that strong, not as intense as a pair of headlights…

Sam’s eyes widened, and now he knew exactly what those animals felt, the reason they stopped and stared each time they were caught in the headlight. The car came to a screeching halt not far from him, Sam recognizing it immediately and feeling like throwing up, because it was a fucking black van and he couldn’t believe that this was happening.

And then it all just got so much worse when the person that came striding out of the car happened to be none other than Crowley.

“You can’t be serious!” the man exclaimed, shaking his head as he laughed at him. “Are you fucking kidding me? Running away? Really?”

Sam took two steps back, his hands beginning to shake, watching as the man clenched his own into fists and began walking toward him. His body stayed still like a statue, as if his legs were being weighted down by giant boulders, then as if something snapped inside him, he was suddenly dashing toward the houses, eyes wide open as his heart pounded frantically in his chest and only speeding up and pumping even more adrenaline through him when he heard Crowley shouting after him.

“Come back here, you little piece of shit!” he hollered, and after a while Sam could hear the car driving, coming his way.

Oh god, Crowley was going to run him over.

He made sure to get off the road as soon as possible, running downhill on a sidewalk and looking for a fence he could jump over, this chase reminding him of the time they kidnapped him. This time, however, he wouldn’t just get put to sleep. Or if yes, it would probably be forever. So he ran for his life, his bare feet slamming against the pavement and his lungs burning as he panted heavily, gradually going into hysterics, then looked back around his shoulder just in time to see the van as it veered to the side and sped up, really trying to run him over.

Shocked, Sam managed to jump out of the car’s way in the last moment, landing painfully on his shoulder and cursing these damn houses for not having a garden or an area that cars couldn’t get to. He pulled himself up on his elbows, hissing when he realized that there was a hole in his shirt and that he had grazed one of his elbows, then when he heard the car stop and its door open, he began crawling, not even caring how that looked because he just needed to get away from that man. First crawling madly on his hands and knees, then scrambling to his feet to continue his flight, Sam barely took three steps forward before he felt a hand grabbing his hair, and he was crying out in pain as he got shoved to his knees, then face-first onto the ground.

“You bitch,” Crowley spat as he pressed a knee into the small of his back to keep him down, but Sam wouldn’t stay still. He thrashed around and writhed hopelessly, desperately trying to turn around or get away, but all he achieved with that was to get his head bashed against the hard asphalt until he would finally stop moving.

“Get off! Let go, don’t—” he growled weakly, tried to speak as blood gathered in his mouth, his forehead and the back of his head pulsing with a horrible pain, and he was pretty sure that his nose was bleeding, though he didn’t think it was broken.

Crowley yanked on his hair, and Sam let out a scream. “You try to run and then you want me to let you go?” the man scoffed and let out a raspy chuckle, suddenly letting go of the injured boy’s head with a brutal shove to fumble with something. “Oh, but this is good. It’s fine, because I’ve been waiting to do this for a while, and now finally, you’re giving me a perfect excuse.”

When he heard the familiar click of a belt, Sam tried to turn around again, feeling as tears of panic and frustration built up in his eyes, pressuring for release. He only managed to twist his head to look back at Crowley, who flashed him a murderous and insane grin, snapping his belt and slipping it around the boy’s throat before he could’ve done anything. Sam’s eyes widened and his tears escaped as he clawed at the leather biting into his skin, listening to the man’s laugh as he tightened the belt around his neck, lifting Sam up and making him lean back as he strangled him. He choked and tried speaking, maybe screaming or even begging, but nothing came out, only pathetic little gagging sounds managing to slip past his lips now and then. He didn’t want to die, oh god, he’d rather stay in that damned warehouse full of smugglers than this, than getting strangled to death with a freaking belt. But no matter how much he tried tugging on the leather, how desperately he tried to curl his fingers under it and lessen the pressure, Crowley was pulling on it too hard and with so much force it wasn’t long before Sam could feel himself weaken.

His bulging eyes were slowly closing, his air cut off and a heavy cloud descending on his mind, his hands trembling and then falling limply to the ground, and his ears were ringing, everything sounding so far away, so distant…

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?!?”

The pressure around his throat lessened, and suddenly the belt was gone. Sam slumped to the ground, coughing and gasping and heaving, his whole body weak and jolting when heard the amount of rage dripping from the voice that let out a sudden yell.

“You fucking lay a finger on him again, and they’ll be needing tiny plastic bags to collect the remains of your body!” the person whose voice Sam recognized as Dean’s bellowed, followed by the sound of footsteps. “And I swear, if you tell Nick that he tried to run, they won’t even need those bags—I’ll turn your body into fucking dust, got me?”

“You’re insane,” Crowley hissed, but as Sam finally managed to gather his strength to lean on his elbows and look up, wiping the blood from his nose, he saw the man slowly backing toward the van. “Protecting this kid, is it really worth it? He tried to run, Dean! You’re seriously willing to just ignore that?!”

Dean glared at him, so hatefully it made Sam afraid. “No, of course not. But I’ll be the one taking care of him, not you. He’s my responsibility from now on,” he growled deeply, a low and dangerous rumble in his throat, “and if I ever see you even look at him, I’ll break every single bone in your body. I will, Crowley. You know I will.”

Shaking his head, the man stopped when he reached the car. “You really have lost it. Fucking gone nuts. But you know what? Whatever, I don’t care. I won’t tell anyone, won’t touch your precious little toy, but if he escapes, I will be the one to tell the boss and watch you burn. Literally.”

“Yeah sure, knock yourself out,” the boy snarled. “Now get the hell out of here.”

“Whatever,” Crowley repeated, tossing his belt into the car before walking around it and getting inside, Sam and Dean watching as he drove away, presumably back to the warehouse.

Once the car was out of sight and they were alone, Dean turned to look at him, his glare just as intense—if not even darker—than when he was looking at Crowley, and Sam was shaking again. He hoped he managed to avoid getting killed tonight, but maybe his relief came too quick. Dean did say he would personally take care of him, and now as those words sunk in, he couldn’t help but let out a pitiful little sound, quickly sitting up and trying to crawl away, all the while keeping his eyes on the furious boy. He didn’t say anything, was silent as the grave as he closed in on Sam, who was only getting more freaked out by the silence, hyperventilating and tears streaming down his face when Dean finally reached him and hauled him to his feet.

“No!” Sam shrieked, kicking and clawing as the boy dragged him to one of the houses, then slammed him against the wall. “No, please, god no! Sorry, I’m so sorry, I won’t run again, please! Please, please don’t kill me, Dean please!”

“Heard that lie already, not interested,” Dean growled through gritted teeth, visibly trying to keep his anger under control as he pinned the crying boy’s arms over his head and shoved a knee between his thighs, keeping him in place. “I really hate it when people lie to my face, Sam. I really fucking do.”

He sniffed, letting his head fall as his shoulders shook with small sobs. “S-Sorry, I’m sorry…” he stuttered with a whimper, not knowing what else to do aside from apologizing and unable to meet the other’s gaze, which he knew must have been filled with rage, with bloodlust.

“Yeah, you said that already,” the boy snarled as he leaned closer, using one hand to keep Sam’s above his head, while moving the other to grab a hold of his jaw and lift his chin. Sam blinked the tears away, staring up at Dean from behind his bangs and feeling completely hopeless, his breaths coming out weak and ragged, then catching in his throat when the other narrowed his eye, closing the distance between them even more. “You’ve really made me angry, you know.”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Sam stammered, “I…I-I…”

Dean’s hold on his jaw tightened, shutting him up. “You see, Sammy,” he purred, pausing to lean in and run the tip of his tongue along a bruise on the trembling boy’s forehead, making him gasp, then was back and watching him keenly, “I wouldn’t have cared before. Crowley could have fucked you up and snapped your neck, and I wouldn’t have given a single shit. But now? Oh, now… Now I refuse to let you run, let you leave. You are not going anywhere, kiddo, because this is your home. You know that too, right? You have nowhere else to go, but here, with me. In my arms…”

He tilted Sam’s head further and slid his thumb over his bottom lip, the younger boy finding it hard to breathe or blink, to move whatsoever as Dean pressed down on his lip and opened his mouth, and then suddenly his eyes were widening in shock as he felt something else press against his lips, something much softer than a thumb. Dean held his head in place as he kissed him, and this time it wasn’t a chaste or brief kiss. It was deep and hard, the boy opening his mouth and licking along Sam’s lips, forcing his tongue into the other’s mouth when he gasped. Completely frozen, with his breath stuck in his chest and his eyes painfully wide, his body continuously assaulted by tiny and quick waves of warmth, making him tremble uncontrollably, Sam needed a few moments to process what was going on, but when he finally realized that Dean was kissing him, it was already too late to do anything.

Sam was too confused, unable to think or focus on anything else aside from those amazing lips on his, that probing and greedy tongue which was in the middle of discovering his mouth, licking into it and sliding against Sam’s own tongue, making him whine. His eyes gradually fluttered shut, and he was suddenly feeling weak, the long and passionate kiss clouding his mind with a sweet, honeyed haze, the way Dean’s lips moved against his, his teeth nibbling on his lower lip before swiping his tongue over the swollen flesh, the way he growled into the kiss each time he pressed closer, deepening it impossibly more, made Sam lose it completely.

He wasn’t thinking when he opened his mouth further and kissed the boy back, slowly and tentatively at first, then much more desperately, letting out small and muffled moans as they kissed hotly, Sam’s knees soon giving way under him, and if not for Dean’s hold on his wrists, he would have surely collapsed.

When the boy finally pulled back and stopped kissing him breathless, Sam quickly went back to panting, looking at Dean through half lidded eyes and licking his already wet, kiss bitten lips.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groaned, letting go of his wrists to grab at his hips, Sam immediately wrapping his arms around the boy’s neck and holding on for dear life. Then he was moaning again, the weak sounds not muffled this time as he leaned his head back with his mouth open, those miserable sounds along with tiny gasps leaving him as Dean began kissing and licking down his neck, setting his body on fire.

And then his eyes flew open and he whimpered loudly as the boy pressed his thigh against the bulge in Sam’s pants, his face flushing in intense embarrassment and something else, because he had a freaking erection.

Dean obviously noticing it too, let out a deep chuckle and then rubbed his thigh against the trembling boy’s clothed erection, all the while teasing his neck and shoulder, kissing and licking, sucking and biting at every inch of skin there. Sam moved his head and craned his neck, baring it for the boy, his fingers curling into Dean’s jacket and sinking into the black leather, then he was desperately bucking into the other’s thigh, needing more of this new but addicting feeling.

“D-Dean…” he breathed, trying to say something, but couldn’t remember how to talk anymore, especially when he felt a cold hand slip under his shirt and play with the burning skin there, Sam instinctively arching his back and leaning into the touch, not even giving a shit that his head was hurting, this strange pleasure so much stronger than pain. He moaned softly, electric shivers running up and down his spine, making the hair on his arms and back of his neck stand on end, Dean’s fingers on his chest, as they caressed him lightly but so possessively at the same time making goosebumps break out on every inch of skin he touched. A persistent and powerful warmth was pooling in his belly and spreading through him, warming and making his blood boil with a hot and heavy passion, and it was so new and so much, Sam was becoming dizzy.

Dean bit down on the spot where his neck met his shoulder, making him moan a bit louder. “Damn, so sweet, taste so good Sammy,” the boy mouthed against his skin, and suddenly Sam’s breath hitched as his shirt got quite literally torn open, buttons flying and dropping to the ground. Dean licked his lips like a famished beast, flashing him a fiery and desirous look before leaning down and licking from Sam’s bellybutton, all the way up to his throat, drawing a surprised and high-pitched cry from him, and that was it. He couldn’t take it anymore, and his hands slipped from the other’s jacket, all the strength leaving Sam as his legs buckled under him and he fell to the ground.

He sat there, panting heavily and trembling uncontrollably, staring ahead with wide eyes, then pulled up his legs and pressed his back into the wall behind him when Dean kneeled down in front of him, leaning forward and placing his hands on either side of Sam.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, the shimmering pool of seaweed green orb making Sam think he was staring into the ocean, could drown in it any day, it eclipsed by Dean’s dilated pupil as he stared deep into the other’s eyes. “And don’t you ever think I’m letting you leave.”

Sam was too stunned to say anything, so he just nodded jerkily, his nails sinking into his knees when Dean moved closer and cupped his chin, the placed a soft kiss on his lips. Then another, and then another, and then he squeezed his eyes shut as the boy just kept kissing him over and over again, until Sam unconsciously parted his lips, after which Dean stopped and gave him one deep and lingering kiss, before finally pulling away. He flashed a satisfied-looking smirk at him, then stood up and extended a helping hand toward Sam which, after a moment of hesitation, he took. Getting to his feet, Sam tried to actually stay upright and not collapse again, as he was still feeling a bit weak, while he closed his shirt as much as he could, using the buttons on it which weren’t scattered across the sidewalk.

He took in a shaky breath, glancing up at Dean and seeing him grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, then tried real hard not to think about how that made Sam the present.

“Come on, let’s go back before anyone else notices you’re gone,” the boy suggested, and Sam nodded, then cleared his throat and gave a shot at talking.

“Yeah, good idea…” he mumbled, glad his voice didn’t break, though it was still quiet and pretty weak, but hey, it was something.

Dean chuckled and ruffled the other’s hair lightly, in a way that didn’t hurt any of Sam’s wounds, then began walking back to the warehouse with a rather perplexed boy shuffling behind him.

Sam was cold and burning hot at the same time, all kinds of thoughts floating and racing around in his head, but one thing was pretty darn clear. He and Dean just made out, kissed in a way he had only read about before, and instead of the disgust he anticipated, it felt good. Not even good, it was amazing, made him forget about everything while the boy’s lips were on his, or on his neck, while those firm hands touched him, fingers trailed up and down his skin. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but this wasn’t nothing anymore. He couldn’t ignore it, not like before, because he clearly enjoyed kissing Dean.

Yeah, denial didn’t really work when he was attracted to the boy.

It was surprising. Sam was pretty appalled and confused by his reaction, by his own body’s needs, but he couldn’t pretend that he hated Dean anymore. Did he scare him still? Hell yes he did. The boy was some psycho criminal, a huge pervert, and that dangerous air around him did manage to frighten Sam even now. But his heart wasn’t racing from fear only, not anymore. It felt like his own body was betraying him, living a life of its own; because Dean was a bad person and Sam shouldn’t be attracted to him in such a way, shouldn’t let the other touch him. He especially shouldn’t be enjoying it, his face heating up again as he remembered the sounds he made, how that boy made him moan and close his eyes in pleasure, hang onto the other like some pathetic little kid. But the reality of the situation was that he didn’t mind it anymore—all those touches he despised and feared, they are still making him nervous but also something else. He wouldn’t go as far to say he craved them now, but he didn’t feel like pushing Dean away, not after what just happened.

Also, Sam didn’t love him. He liked the kiss, yes; he wasn’t sure he was ready to accept the fact that kissing and being kissed by an older boy was something he found enjoyable, but that was the truth and it happened. All these “feelings” were purely physical, though. Well, he didn’t think Dean was a complete jerk anymore, that much was true, but he was still an ass. Just an ass that happened to be pretty good at kissing and turning Sam on.

Speaking of which, he still had an erection.

He wasn’t a complete saint. He had jerked off before to porn and some pictures, all of them straight by the way, so this wasn’t the first time he popped a boner. But it was, however, the first time he got an erection thanks to stimuli from someone else, from someone touching him in such an intimate way. The fact that he had no underwear on, only the rather thin pair of pajama pants, might have been one of the many reasons as to why he got hard so quickly, too. Plus all the rubbing and kissing, yeah. And now he couldn’t calm down, at least his lower regions certainly weren’t able to relax, Sam waddling uncomfortably after Dean and taking deep breaths, concentrating on the chilly air as it caressed his skin and made him shiver, trying to will that goddamn boner away already. And it took a while, but he did manage to calm down completely in the end, entering his room without a tent in his pants.

He wasn’t alone, though. Dean followed him inside, stopping after a few steps and letting out a low whistle.

“Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he nodded toward the open window, the sheets still tied around a handle and hanging from it. “I think you might have watched a bit too many spy movies, Sam.”

Quickly making his way to the windows, Sam pulled up the sheets and tossed them onto the floor, before closing the window. He then turned around and frowned at the other, pretty sure that his own face was still resembling the shade of a tomato. “It’s not like I had another choice, okay? And anyway, it worked, so shut up.”

Dean chuckled, grinning at him. “Worked, huh?” he taunted, his grin widening as Sam’s frown deepened. “Doesn’t really look like it did to me, I’ve gotta say.”

“It would have, if not for that lunatic…” Sam huffed, averting his gaze from the way too cocky-looking boy and playing awkwardly with the hem of his shirt, gripping the fabric tightly as he listened to Dean’s growing steps as he walked over to him.

“Hey,” he said rather quietly, using his fingers to lightly turn the other’s face toward him, Sam giving in and looking at him again. Dean smiled when their eyes met, and used his other hand to tuck a few strands of hair behind the younger boy’s ear. “Promise me you won’t do it again. _Really_ promise me, I don’t want any more lies.”

Sam bit down on the inside of his cheek as he thought, as he looked into the other’s eye, full of genuine emotions, and he knew he wasn’t lying when he said, “I promise, Dean. I won’t ever run again. You were right, I… There’s nowhere I could go, no place I could call home anymore, so why even try…”

“You do have a home,” the boy pointed out, furrowing his brow slightly and stroking Sam’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “It’s here, with us. I know you don’t like it, I know, but this place accepts you, Sam.”

He watched as Dean’s eye searched for something in his, maybe defeat or acceptance. Sam was silent, not sure how or what to answer. He knew he couldn’t run anymore, but now that he was more or less sure that he’d stay, could he really do it? Could he really blend in and accept these people? His life would change completely without the plan to escape, without the possibility of a normal life. What would happen to him now that he’d given up on that future?

It scared him, the sudden realization that his dream for an everyday life was gone, fully out of reach now and never to be his, making him unable to utter a word and stealing his voice, Sam not so sure he could survive here anymore.

And Dean must have seen it, sensed it somehow, because in the next moment he leaned down and placed a tender kiss on the other’s forehead. “It’ll be okay; I won’t let anything happen to you, not anymore. Nobody dares to harm what’s mine, after all.”

That made Sam stare at the boy, blinking with slightly wide eyes. “H-Hey I never actually agreed to that. I mean it’s not like…we’re not…” His voice trailed off, and great, he was blushing again. Why did Dean always have to make him feel like some virgin girl?

Well, he _was_ a virgin…

Dean just laughed, a low and kinda nice sound, and shook his head. “No we’re not,” he said, then winked and added, “yet.”

Sam opened and closed his mouth, struggling with words as he tried to protest, but Dean was already pulling away and walking back to the door. Once he reached it, he stopped and gave the other a half-smile. “Sweet dreams,” he purred, before taking a hold of the handle and closing the door behind himself as he walked out, leaving Sam alone in the room, just standing next to the window and blinking at the door.

He stayed there for the longest moment, wondering if all of this really did just happened, then ran his hands through his hair with a sigh, immediately wincing as he touched the wounds. Alright, for now he needed to clean up a bit. Reluctantly, he knelt down, pulling a face because he was pretty sure he had managed to bruise his knees too, and proceeded to untie the sheets, then fix his bed. When that was done and he was ready to just lie back down and let his mind shut off, Sam caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror mounted on the wardrobe, and cringed.

Wow, he looked like crap. Sam slowly wandered over to the mirror and looked himself over, and no wonder he was hurting all over—he was covered in wounds, many of them bleeding. His forehead was grazed and bloody near his temple, and when he raised a hand and trailed his index finger along his nose, it hurt, but not too badly. His nose wasn’t bleeding and didn’t look like it was broken, either, so he was thankful for that; however his neck was in a horrible condition, a belt shaped bruise already forming around his throat. But as he leaned closer, as he took a step toward the mirror, Sam noticed something else too. There were the cuts on his skin that were already healing but not disappearing, the horizontal bruise, and next to it, some more. Other sort of bruises, some small while others were slightly bigger, but all of them were dark, a deep red color with a bit of purple. Puzzled, he pressed a finger against the closest one to his shoulder, but it didn’t hurt like he expected. It felt weird, and there was definitely a dull ache there if he pressed too hard, though that could’ve been just because of the force he used and not the bruise itself.

He looked at them for a long time, wondering what could have possibly done that, then as if a light bulb appeared above his head, Sam suddenly got it. Then immediately felt his face flush, because those were hickeys and, holy crap, Dean really went all out.

Clutching his neck as if the marks would disappear like that, he ran to the bathroom and looked for some band-aids. He needed to cover them up somehow, as that idiot managed to leave the hickeys in some pretty freaking obvious places, and it’s not like he had any turtlenecks to hide them behind. But when, to his surprise, he did actually find some plain band-aids, his hopes to avoid some rather embarrassing situations got crushed, because no way were they going to fit. They were too small, compared to some of the hickeys, just enough to cover most of a mark’s width, but not all of it. Damn it, was Dean trying to mark him as his property or something? Why not just stick a sign on his forehead that read “Mine” and just be done with it? Not like he really belonged to the boy, but anything was better than these…love bites or what.

Sam let out a defeated sigh, holding onto the edge of the sink as he lowered his head, strands of his messy chestnut hair falling in front of his face, his closed eyes. This night has been weird, turned completely upside down, into chaos. It was supposed to end with him escaping, with him leaving this place behind, but instead, here he was—back in the cell that was his room. It wasn’t a prison anymore, though, was it? That’s what it was supposed to be, what it’s been all this time, but now that Sam had screwed up his very last chance at leaving, it was home. Dean was right, this was his home now, whether he liked it or not. And he’d just have to accept it, stop trying to escape, stop complaining and whining, because it was still better than some orphanage or the streets. Yeah, they were all bad, but aside from the people here, the warehouse itself was pretty neat. And maybe not everyone was so horrible… Maybe.

As long as they didn’t try to murder him like Crowley did, he was quite positive he could actually do this. Sure, he had no idea what the future held, how everything would turn out after this, the kind of life waiting for him still a mystery. But he liked mysteries, and no matter how bad it would get, he at least always had the memory of his father with him, and something else, someone else who he just might be able to count on from now on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was a long chapter. Hope you enjoyed it, because, you see... I won't be here for a few days, so I can't post new chapters. Sorry, I know! But it's only a few days, I promise, and look, I posted such a long chapter for you guys! Please don't throw tomatoes at me!
> 
> Love you all! <3


	9. Sweet Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for the delay. You can all thank a certain SOMEONE for it. (You know who you are)  
> But now I'm back, the story is back, and please do enjoy it!

 

That night, he took a nice and long shower, picked up some more bandages from downstairs, and then slept like a baby. Like a hibernating baby bear, to be more specific.

He was in such a deep, dreamless sleep, that he only managed to wake up after hearing someone shout his name. At first he thought he was still dreaming, but when he realized that whoever was shouting was also knocking on his door, it became pretty clear that, nope, he was wide awake now.

Then he was sitting up and nearly tripping on the sheets as he jumped out of the bed, because the voice behind the door belonged to Nick, and that couldn’t mean anything good.

“Sam?” Nick’s knocks quickly turned to thuds, every sound sending dread coursing through Sam’s veins. What if he knew? Why else would he be knocking on his door as if they were being attacked by some massive dragon, other than the fact that that asshole Crowley told him everything? Or maybe even Dean. Maybe the boy was lying to him all along, maybe this was his plan from the start, maybe…

No, he was panicking. There were hundreds of reasons as to why the man would be banging on his door—he glanced at the clock on top of the drawers—at eight in the morning. Surely, it wasn’t as bad as Sam thought. God, he hoped it wasn’t.

Whatever the reason was behind the morning call, he couldn’t just stand there, unable to move a muscle or utter a word. He needed to at least let Nick know that he was awake, because while the bangs on the door sounded like they meant trouble, the man’s voice didn’t sound too aggressive. Loud, yes, but not what a murderous maniac would sound like. Though Nick always managed to keep his voice kind and honeyed, the sort that was too polite, making him completely unpredictable.

Damn it, he was screwed.

“Yeah, I’m awake!” he yelled back, because it’s not like he could’ve swan dived out the window again, not after what happened.

The knocking stopped, and he heard a sigh. “Finally,” Nick said, sounding relieved. “A heavy sleeper, aren’t you?” There was a pause, one lasting probably a few seconds, but which seemed like an eternity to Sam. “Well, come on downstairs. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

He listened to the man’s disappearing footsteps, only relaxing his shoulders when he was sure that he was alone again. A surprise? That couldn’t mean anything great, at least not coming from Nick. He really hoped it didn’t involve things like, say, a rope needed for public executions. No, that was stupid, they wouldn’t execute him like in those mafia movies, come on.

They’d probably just slash his throat and be done with it.

Sam shook his head. He needed to stop thinking of the worst case scenario right away, stop being so pessimistic. Which, in a place full of people who could snap his neck in a split second, wasn’t as easy as it seemed, but he was trying. Sighing, he could only hope that the surprise Nick was talking about was indeed something nice and worth getting out of bed for, the only way finding that out being by just going downstairs as he was told. So he quickly made his bed and changed into something more presentable than his pajamas, picking a simple pair of black jeans, along with a matching blue and black checkered shirt—yes, he liked flannel and squares—then put on his shoes and fluffed his hair a bit. Standing in front of the mirror on his wardrobe, he made sure to button the shirt all the way up, then even popped its collar, unfolding it in order to hide the hickeys which, unfortunately, did not chose to disappear overnight. He looked a bit stupid like that, with the collar facing upward against his neck, but it was still better than letting everyone see the pretty damn visible marks on his skin. He’d have to remind himself later to give Dean an earful about them, that bastard deserving a good beating for what he did to his neck. Maybe Sam could even catch him off guard, this time managing to get a punch in before getting strangled or worse.

Anyway, that was a plan for the future. For now, he needed to survive whatever this surprise was supposed to be.

He unlocked the door, keeping his tight hold on the handle as he peered out and down into the room below, instantly feeling a bit confused when he saw nearly everyone there. They were gathered around the couch, some leaning against it while others were just sitting on its comfortable cushions. The only person missing was Crowley—aside from his absence, the whole gang was seemingly waiting for him. That made him even more wary of what was coming, but the opportunity to just nope out of the situation and get back inside his room quickly ceased to exist when he made eye contact with Nick, who was standing in the middle of the vast room.

That eerie smile was back on his face as soon as they locked eyes. “Sam! Come on, I think you’re going to like this,” the man said, beckoning to him.

Reluctantly, Sam swallowed and closed the door behind himself, then went down the stairs before walking over to the boss. “What’re they doing here…?” he asked, nodding toward the group by the couch and deliberately not looking at Dean. He didn’t have to look to know the boy was staring at him, and Sam didn’t feel like getting molested by that one eye right now, thank you very much.

Nick raised his eyebrows, glancing at the men and one woman, then let out a small chuckle. “Oh, they’re just curious. I haven’t told them about the job either, and since it’ll be your first, they can’t wait to know which one I’m assigning to you.”

“What?” Sam blurted, really not liking the sound of that, then quickly cleared his throat and tried to sound a bit less scared. “What job?”

“Your very first job,” Nick explained, then added with a smile, “one you’ll do all by yourself.”

Oh no.

“Alone? Are you…” His voice trailed off, but he wasn’t going to panic, he couldn’t let Nick of all people let him see get all jittery. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“Ah, of course you’d say that,” the man said, shaking his head. “But don’t worry, you are. It won’t be a hard one, I wouldn’t give you a job you’d be destined to fail. No, I picked one that should work just fine…if you do everything the way you’re supposed to, that is.”

That still didn’t reassure him one bit. Working for smugglers, _as_ a smuggler was bad in itself, but now he had to do a job alone? How the hell was he supposed to pull that off? He’d have no one to rely on, and if it involved climbing across a roof or performing some hardcore James Bond stunts, then he was surely going to break something. Fall and fail, that’s what he’d do, not succeed.

But maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. He didn’t even know what the job was, so he shouldn’t mourn himself yet, right?

“So…what am I supposed to do?” he finally asked, forced the words out of his mouth.

“Yeah, tell us already,” Ruby chimed in from the sofa, turning around on her knees to look at Nick, then gave Sam a wink. “We’re dying to know how you’re planning on making the poor kid’s life miserable.”

The man rolled his eyes. “That’s enough. I’m only letting you listen in because you begged, remember? Don’t make me regret my decision,” he said, all smile gone from his voice, before turning back to Sam. “Now then, it’s simple. Nothing to worry about. You’ll just have to take some heroin to France. By taking a plane, obviously.”

No, it was definitely bad.

“Giving him a plane job already?” Benny laughed, shaking his head. “Poor kid.”

“He’ll survive,” Raphael remarked with a shrug, before going back to doing whatever he was doing on the laptop in his lap.

Ruby raised an eyebrow at Nick, but stayed silent instead and just flopped back onto the sofa with a sigh.

Dean, however, pushed himself away from where he was leaning against the sofa and walked over to them, and this time, Sam did look at him. The boy had his face fixed in a steady frown, his steps as he strode over seeming somewhat purposeful, and when he stopped next to them, he stood near Sam in a way that could even be mistaken to protective.

He looked at Nick with one questioning eye, the frown that wrinkled his forehead never leaving his face. “Are you sure about this, boss? I mean he did just join us recently. Giving him a job like that… It could be a mistake. He could screw up.”

It was Sam’s turn to frown now. He thought Dean was going to help him out, but apparently he was becoming too naïve, because that was certainly not the case. Sure, he was scared and quite positive that if they’d make him do this, he would probably end up screwing it all up, so Dean was right, but he didn’t get to say stuff like that. And in a way, that jerk’s comment was kind of starting to make him reconsider his thoughts on this job, wanting to accept it just to prove him wrong.

He didn’t get to voice his opinion, though, as Nick was smiling again and crossing his arms in front of his chest, raising his eyebrows at the boy. “Are you saying I’m one to make mistakes, Dean? That I don’t know when one of my men is ready for something or not?”

“That’s not what I’m saying, obviously,” Dean stated, raising his hands. “It’s just… He’s still a kid, so wouldn’t it be odd for him to travel on a plane alone?”

“Kids younger than him go alone, and you know that too,” he pointed out. “And I won’t make him carry full packets of powdered heroin. He’d never get through security like that.” Probably noticing Sam’s uneasy, but slightly curious gaze on him, Nick paused, then looked at him with a serious expression. It gave him the creeps, this side of the man reminding him just who he was, and it was hard to decide which Nick was the most terrifying—the polite, smiling but borderline murderous one, or this grim and serious one, looking like he could go for your throat in a heartbeat. “You will be transporting the heroin by masking it as candy. Just what a fourteen year old would have on himself, something that wouldn’t raise much attention. The hard candy will be filled with liquid heroin, making it easier for the costumers to extract it. It’s not actually meant to be eaten like a candy, merely transported as one. But you needn’t worry about that. All you need to do is take the bag of ‘candy’ through the airport, onto the plane, and then drop it off in a motel in France. I’ll give you all the documents and other papers with some more details, like where to find the motel, in a short while, but really, this is it. This is the job. Do you think you can handle it, Sam?”

He wasn’t sure. The part with him needing to do it alone was rather off putting and made him question if his acting skill were good enough, but now that Nick explained what he’d really have to do… Well, it didn’t sound too complicated. Much easier than he would have thought, actually, so it might work. He might be able to do it without messing up and getting busted. Yeah, he could do this. After all his failures, he needed to somehow regain his self-confidence, and maybe this job would help with that.

So he steeled his resolve and nodded, feeling for the first time in a long time that he could actually do something, be like those characters he always dreamed of becoming. However instead of a super spy agent, he would be a smuggler, but as long as he was alone with nobody there to remind him of what he was doing was illegal, a crime that could make him end up in prison, he could always pretend.

“I can. I’ll do it,” he said as confidently as he possibly could, though keeping his eyes locked with Nick’s intent and penetrating ones was already a battle on its own.

The man smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but apparently not everyone was as happy with Sam’s final decision as him.

“No,” Dean stated, shooting a glare at Sam that kind of surprised him, before looking back at Nick, his frown deepening. “I’ll go with him.”

“I don’t need you,” Sam snapped, stepping away from the boy to put some distance between the two of them, and returned his glare, starting to feel a bit pissed off. “I can do it alone, you really don’t need to hover around and babysit me.”

Dean’s eye narrowed, suddenly reminding Sam just why he used to be scared of the boy; why he felt a horrible chill run down his spine even now as the other clenched his jaw and hissed through gritted teeth, “Yes, you do. Sam, I’m not letting you go alone, you can forget that. You do need me, or else you might just end up being snatched by some fucker on the streets. We both know how easy it is to get a hold of you, don’t we?”

“Screw you!” Sam snarled, his glare intensifying. “I can take care of myself and I certainly don’t need _you_ to look out for me. The only reason you guys managed to get me was because I was scared and I wasn’t prepared!”

“Oh, and you wanna tell me you’re not scared now? That you won’t be scared when some pedophile gets his dirty hands on you?” Dean growled lowly, closing the distance between them and grabbing a hold of Sam’s jaw, taking him by surprise as he raised his head to gaze deep into his eyes. “You’re so delicate, so easy to break, Sammy. Anyone could take advantage of you…and you wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it.”

He stared at the boy, suddenly feeling humiliated, because he was right. Especially when it came to Dean, he couldn’t do anything, let alone put up a fight. And it hurt his dignity. Everyone was fine, except Dean. He could more or less defend himself and fight, but from the very beginning, ever since Sam saw this boy in his father’s room, it was him who frightened him the most and now… Now the fear had turned into something else, something Sam was so ashamed of, but couldn’t control, no matter how much he tried.

But right now, he was just pissed.

“Look who’s talking,” he sneered, slapping the other’s hand away and baring his teeth like a cornered animal. “Don’t worry, next time anyone tries to put their ‘dirty hands’ on me, I’ll be sure to give them Hell.”

The boy laughed humorlessly, clenching his hands into fists, but then the man they have both skillfully forgotten about cleared his throat and pulled them back into the here and now.

“Are you two done with your little domestics? Because there’s still a job to be done here,” he said, making sure to give a stern look at both of them before fixing his eyes on Dean. “You won’t shut up unless I let you tag along, will you?”

“Nope,” the boy answered without hesitation, and then it was like the two males engaged in some sort of intense staring battle, the tension growing in the air in a way that made Sam take a few steps back. He really hoped that Nick would put his foot down or something, maybe lock Dean in somewhere to keep him at bay, because no matter how much the thought of going on the job alone was still worrying him a bit, the thought of being alone with Dean…? No, that was just way worse.

But why on earth would he ever get what he wanted? That’s just simply not how his fate worked, it seemed.

“Fine,” Nick said after a while, waving a hand dismissingly. “But only this once. Next time he’ll go on a job alone, that’s exactly how he’ll be—alone.”

Dean flashed the man a satisfied-looking grin. “Got it, boss,” he told him, before turning to look at Sam, who was pretty sure he looked like someone going through a bout of serious constipation. “Come on, let’s get ready.”

Instead of Dean, though, Sam decided to back away a bit and look at Nick instead. “When am I…are we supposed to go? Right now?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “you still have a few hours. But you’ll have to be ready by 1pm, which is when the plane for Paris leaves. Still, there should be just enough time for you to get to Albuquerque.”

“Albuquerque?” Sam asked, though the real question was—were they seriously going to Paris? Big Eiffel Tower Paris that he’s been wanting to visit for ages?

“Yes, you’ll be taking a plane from that airport,” Nick explained, then checked the watch on his wrist and scowled. “Alright, give me thirty minutes. I need to prepare Dean’s documents, so while I do that, you two pack your bags in a way that screams ‘I’m going on a vacation’.”

Sam watched as the man turned on his heel and marched off to his office, wondering where the hell was he supposed to get a bag in the first place. After a moment, he simply decided to ask.

“You’ve got any spare luggage for situations like these?” he asked not from Dean, but from Ruby who was looking at him again, now that Nick was gone. In fact, he was doing a wonderful job at ignoring Dean, who on the other hand, wasn’t appreciating any of it.

“Yeah, we do,” the boy answered before Ruby could’ve gotten a word out, then was already grabbing Sam’s arm and dragging him toward the armory. The younger boy gave the woman a meaningful look, one that roughly translated to “Help me”, but she just shrugged in way that said “Sorry, you’re on your own”.

They were on the other side of the armory door way faster that he would’ve liked, the telltale sound of the door being locked shooting a nervous bolt of electricity up his spine and back of his neck, and when he saw the look Dean gave him upon facing him, Sam knew this was bad, real bad.

“So,” the boy purred, and it was as if a switch had been turned on in him. He changed, his voice deepening and his eye darkening, and it was only a matter of time before he had Sam backed into one of the wire screens holding some of the larger guns. “You say you’re gonna…what was it again? Give Hell to whoever touches you again? Is that it?”

For a change, Sam decided that, screw it, he was going to stay true to his word and stand his ground. “Yeah, that’s exactly it,” he stated, straightening his back and glaring up at Dean, who had one hand braced against the solid wire mesh above Sam’s head, and the other just hanging at his side, visibly eager to touch.

“Hmm, I see,” he drawled, his eye roaming the other’s body until Sam could feel himself flush under that hungry gaze, but he didn’t move, didn’t look away. He kept glaring at the boy, no matter how much he wished to just shrink away and run from the wolf looming over him.

Then when, after what he believed was a full minute, nothing happened, with Dean just undressing him with his eyes and making Sam incredibly uncomfortable, he couldn’t take it anymore and moved. He scurried the hell away from the boy, ducking under his arm before he could’ve caught him, then quickly looked around, his eyes darting around the room in search for those damn bags, and he couldn’t help but feel a huge wave of relief when he spotted them in a corner. He immediately bolted for them, grabbing a big, dark red one, then shot Dean a death glare when he blocked Sam’s escape route.

“Move,” he ordered with what he hoped was a no-bullshit tone.

“Or what?” Dean asked and raised an eyebrow, so Sam clearly didn’t succeed.

He was getting tired of this. “Dean, come on. Just let me through. We don’t have time for stupid games.”

The boy narrowed his eye, then just sighed. “I’m not playing, Sammy. But you’ll understand that soon enough,” he said with a shrug, then stepped aside, letting Sam pass and leave the armory.

He went back to his room and dropped the empty suitcase in front of his bed, before walking to his wardrobe and pulling out some random clothes he could stuff in the bag. He concentrated on packing, which worked for about a minute or two, but then his mind began drifting off toward a very specific topic. A plane ride with Dean. How was he supposed to survive the constant harassment of the boy? No, wait. He usually only behaved like some horny animal when they were completely alone, and an airplane was anything but, so there was still a chance that Sam would be fine. Not even Dean could possibly be as carefree as to just start whispering in his ear or maybe, god forbid, kiss him in a plane full of people. It was true that these teasings from Dean have become more frequent, but nobody could have such a strong libido, or weak self-control.

Anyway, as long as Sam pushed him away, everything should work out just fine. He’d get the drugs to France—a sentence he never thought he’d say, or more like think, in his entire life—and it would be a great success, with everyone ending up satisfied. Plus on the bright side, at least this time he wouldn’t have to swallow anything and then crap them out. The memory alone made him cringe and shudder at the same time, which probably looked like he was having a brief seizure to anyone who would have seen him.

Sighing and convincing himself that it would be alright, since he was trying to be a bit more positive right now, Sam finished packing after a long while, then headed over to the bathroom and relieved himself, before fixing his looks. The bandage around his head was gone, however the one on his side remained. His hair, after a bit of combing, looked good enough, but just as he thought, the unfolded collar look was ridiculous. Still, he’d just have to suck it up and deal with it, ignore the weird looks people would surely give him, as they were better than the way they would gape at him if they saw the strangle mark, along with the hickeys. It would make it seem like he was into some heavy BDSM stuff, which obviously wasn’t the case.

So he took one last glance at his reflection in the mirror, turned off the lights, then grabbed the bag and brought it downstairs, miraculously making it to the bottom of the stairs without tripping with the heavy suitcase in his hands and tumbling down like a grandpa who forgot his cane. And his hipbone medication.

Once down, standing next to the ping pong table, the luggage creating a nice little barrier between him and Dean, they only needed to wait a few minutes before Nick came out his office with a backpack in one hand, and some papers in the other.

“Alright, here are your new, temporal identities,” he said, shoving the papers in Dean’s hands, while tossing the bag at Sam, the younger boy a bit taken aback by how heavy it was.

“Wait, we’re brothers?” Dean frowned at the papers, then raised his gaze and gave Nick an incredulous look. “Really?”

“What?” Sam took the papers from the boy’s hands and looked through them, while Nick chuckled.

“Of course. It makes sense, doesn’t it?” he said nonchalantly. “Two boys, flying together. Sure, I could’ve made you cousins, but knowing people, they’ll like you more if you were brothers. Don’t you agree?”

“Well, yeah. I guess so,” the boy said, Sam hearing the slight smile in his voice, but was too busy to look at their ID cards to look up and see for himself. He was Simon Scott, and Dean was Russell Scott. He looked nothing like a Simon, and imagining Dean as a Russell just made him want to burst out laughing, it sounded so stupid. Why could they never give him the cool names, for example Chris or Owen? Or Jared. He really liked the name Jared. But no, he was stuck with being Simon.

When he did finally look up from their passports and other papers, he found Nick watching him. The man nodded to the bag that Sam had hooked around his elbow, and said, “The package is in there, inside a plastic bag. Make sure you handle the backpack carefully so that none of the candies break and let any of the heroin leak out.”

He never thought he’d hear the word ‘candy’ and ‘heroin’ being used in the same sentence, but he supposed he could cross that off his list now. Opening the bag, he wasn’t too surprised to find other things in it aside from the plastic bag full of fake candy, as that would have been just way too suspicious. There was a light, orange blanket at the bottom, along with a pocket tissue pack placed neatly on top of it, right next to the transparent, thin plastic bag containing the drugs. The candies looked completely normal, oval shaped and coming in all the colors of the rainbow, and would have actually looked appetizing if not for what Sam knew was hidden inside them.

Deciding not to pay any mind to the drugs in the bag, he tossed his and Dean’s papers on top of the plastic and zipped the backpack closed, then swung it across his back. “Are we supposed to stay in Paris for a bit when we get there, or…?” he asked from Nick, looking at the man somewhat hopefully.

“Well, since going back straight away would be impossible, with the tickets and all,” Nick said with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “yes, Sam. But you’ll only be staying a day. You will be flying back to the US first thing next morning.”

“That’s good enough,” Dean said before Sam could’ve gotten a word in, then picked up his suitcase and looked at Nick. “I assume you’ve got a car ready for us too, right?”

“Everything,” the man stated with a nod, and glanced past their shoulders at the door leading outside. “Now, I have much more important matters to take care of than staying and continuing this little chat. I trust you two will be fine on your own from now on?”

“Yeah, just fine.” The boy flashed a sort of smug-looking smirk at Nick, before turning around and waltzing off toward the door without looking back.

After a brief moment of just shifting his gaze from one male to another, Sam picked up his own suitcase and followed Dean outside, not really seeing any other option. Just as he expected, there was already a—surprise surprise—black van waiting for them, parked away from the rest of the parade of vans behind the warehouse. Hesitantly, he walked over to the car and placed the luggage in the back, sliding the door closed once he was done, however kept the bag with himself. He didn’t think he was going to let go of it until they reached Paris, actually, just to be a hundred percent sure that nothing happened to Nick’s precious cargo.

“Buckle up, kiddo,” Dean said teasingly when Sam flopped into the passenger seat, glad to finally be on the other side of that damned wire mesh. “We’re in for a long ride.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, then did indeed fasten his seatbelt just in case Dean turned out to be a horrible driver, with the potential of driving them off a bridge.

It was only after they left the gravel path and were driving on the road that he realized that this was the first time he got to really see where they were. He was always either in the back of the van, which had no windows, or in the front but with a rank burlap sack over his head, preventing him from seeing a thing. The realization made him wonder if they have really accepted him now, if they really thought of him as part of them, and since Nick was actually wanting to give him a job to do on his own, he guessed that, yeah, he was indeed a smuggler now. Part of the gang…kind of. It was a weird thought, but not a completely unwelcomed one, actually.

It also made him curious if he could find out the warehouse’s exact location.

“Hey,” he found himself saying, his voice breaking the peace the low tune coming from the radio brought upon the car, “where are we, exactly?”

Dean kept looking ahead, only glancing at him for a brief moment. “You mean our base?”

He nodded, then realizing that the boy wasn’t actually looking at him, said, “Yeah, that.”

“We’re in New Mexico,” he answered after a short pause, a smile slowly creeping across his features and curling his lips. “In Artesia.”

“Artesia?” Sam frowned, looking out the window at the houses and remembering the meadow he saw from Benny’s room, and the forest facing his. “I thought New Mexico would look more…”

“Dead? Like a desert?” Dean asked, this time looking at him, so he nodded. “Yeah, it’s mainly like that, with more yellow than green. Artesia is similar to that, too, but we’re in a more rural area right now. Plus, you know, this thing called gardening and planting trees does exist, too.”

“Yeah I know, smartass,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes and hugging the backpack on his lap against his chest, looking down at it and playing with the zipper. “I was just curious.”

“Well,” Dean said, and the way his tone suddenly shifted from the usual taunting to humorless had Sam gazing at him from the corner of his eye, his hands stilling on the rugged, plastic teeth of the zipper. “As long as you’re asking only out of sheer curiosity, that’s fine. However if you have other things in mind—”

Already knowing what the boy was getting at, Sam interrupted him. “Dean, I get it. I didn’t ask so I’d know where to send a SWAT team after getting my hands on a phone. I’ve got no intentions of running anymore, so would you stop with the death threats? They are seriously starting to get annoying,” he told the other while turning in his seat to face him completely, but Dean wasn’t looking at him, at least not directly. Sam couldn’t immediately see where he was looking at, as the boy’s eye closest to him was the one with the eyepatch over it, but after a moment he noticed Dean staring at him through the rear-view mirror, something in that emerald eye making it pretty hard for Sam not to avert his own gaze.

“You know, maybe if you wouldn’t have run and behaved, like you were supposed to, then I wouldn’t feel the need to warn you,” he stated matter-of-factly, before turning his attention back to the road, looking straight ahead.

Sam scowled at him, incredulous. “Seriously? What would you have done if you were in my shoes, just stay put and let a bunch of strangers do as they please with you?” he asked in a mix of disbelief and derision. “Dean, any sane person would have tried to run!”

“I don’t care what others would have done,” the boy growled, his grip visibly tightening on the steering wheel, “when we tell you to stay, you stay.”

“I’m not a goddamn dog!” Sam snapped, suddenly and violently, the commanding and that fucking domineering tone in Dean’s voice pushing him over the edge. He gritted his teeth in sudden anger, glaring daggers at the boy next to him as he hissed, “You can’t treat me like some animal on a leash, like something to be controlled. And I’m not a kid anymore, so I don’t need you supervising everything I do, be present every single second of my life!”

Dean laughed, tossed his head back and let out a hearty laugh. “Really, Sam? You gonna throw a hissy fit now? Things ain’t going the way you want them, the adults are being mean to you, so now you’re gonna cry?”

“Fuck you,” he spat, but his voice came out much weaker than he would have wanted, it being barely a whisper as he dug his nails in his palms. “Just fuck you. I hate you, fucking jerk.” Sam knew he really was behaving like a kid now, but he was so angry that he didn’t know what to do, his rage melting into confusion and some desperate sort of helplessness, because nobody cared. Dean wasn’t listening to him, wasn’t taking him seriously, just wouldn’t stop mocking him, and Sam was growing tired. Why should he even get angry if it wouldn’t change a thing? If he’d only get laughed at for voicing his opinions, for trying to stand up for himself? Sam wasn’t going to cry, but felt like it. He felt like doing exactly what the boy said, just throw a hissy fit and curl up in a corner, crying, then lash out at anyone who dared approach him, kicking and clawing until he saw blood. Instead, he just sank lower in his seat and rested his head against the window, only hugging the bag closer to his chest when he heard Dean’s voice again.

“And you say you’re not a kid. Look who’s sulking now?” he scoffed, then surprised Sam by reaching over and ruffling his hair, but was already pulling his hand back before the annoyed boy could’ve batted it away. “Come on, cheer up kiddo. We still have a long drive ahead of us. Or do you plan on giving me the silent treatment until we get to the airport?”

Finding that quite a great idea, Sam shot a glare at Dean and then huffed, shifting in his seat so he had his back to the other, then proceeded to keep his mouth shut for the next four hours, looking out the window and listening to the music to keep himself entertained.

—

 

Many times, Dean tried to talk to him, but Sam stayed strong and gave him the cold shoulder, successfully drawing countless sighs out of the older boy. When they stopped to get some food, Sam ignored Dean and gave all of his attention to the fast food employee instead. It was painfully obvious how much that frustrated the boy, no matter how good he was at pretending he didn’t care, and soon, Sam was beginning to feel a sick pleasure from torturing him like this. He totally deserved it, would have deserved so much more than a simple silent treatment, but this was good enough for Sam now.

At one point, when they stopped at a red light, Dean tickled him. That idiot honest-to-god tickled him, and he couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of him at that, aimlessly and franticly swatting at the boy’s hands until the light switched to green and the cars behind them began honking, forcing Dean to pull away and drive. He looked proud and all satisfied with himself after that, even though he only made Sam laugh but not talk, he didn’t break and never said a word, though that didn’t seem to bother Dean. He looked way too victorious to Sam’s liking, so when they reached another red light, he made sure to loosen the cap on his bottled water as he placed it on the car’s armrest, then ‘accidentally’ pushed it with his elbow, spilling its contents right on the other’s jeans.

He nearly got strangled for it, but the look Dean gave him when he flashed him a smug grin was so worth it.

They drove for a long while like that, both of them silent, it turning from the initial awkward to rather comfortable after some hours, Sam not even noticing when he relaxed and let his eyes close. He would have never let his guard down so much before, so easily, especially with Dean right next to him, but now he found himself leaning back in his seat and ready to just doze off, when he got startled awake by the boy’s voice.

“Hey, we’re here.”

They pulled up next to a huge building, Sam blinking at its massive form and swallowing as sudden anxiety enveloped him. Probably noticing it, Dean flashed him a smirk, along with a playful wink as he said, “Better put your game face on, Sammy. Can’t be looking like someone about to get executed while we’re smuggling drugs into the plane.”

He nodded, gripping one of the straps of the backpack as he opened the door and climbed out of the van, then quickly flung the bag over his shoulder, going for a leisurely and casual look. Though for that to work, maybe he’d need to stop feeling nauseous and letting the uneasiness show on his face. Yeah, he should probably start with that.

Sam watched as the boy walked around the van to join him on the sidewalk that led to the airport, then glanced from him to the car, then back to Dean, before furrowing his brow. “Are you just going to leave it here?”

Dean smiled. “Nope, Benny’s gonna come and pick it up in an hour or so. Don’t worry, nobody’s gonna steal it,” he said, his voice carrying a teasing edge.

“I’m not worried,” Sam stated, turning away from the car.

“You are. Maybe not about the car, but it’s so painfully obvious that you are,” the boy pointed out, but as Sam glanced at him through his bangs which he let fall in front of his eyes, instead of the mocking grin, he saw Dean smiling in a somewhat reassuring way. “Hey, relax, okay? Don’t think of this as a job, but more like…a vacation.”

He raised an eyebrow at the other. “A vacation?” he asked, then snorted. “Yeah right. As if I could ever think of this as one.”

“Well you don’t have to, but it could help,” Dean remarked with a shrug, then was already walking past him and toward the building without looking back or waiting for Sam to catch up.

Alright, he could do this. It wasn’t that hard, right? Just board the plane, pretend that everything was fine and dandy, then go to some motel in a country he’s never been to and, aside from “omlette du fromage”, knows nothing about the language. Yeah, this was definitely going to be a smooth sail.

He let out a small sigh, quickly looking around himself, then snaked his other arm around the bag’s strap and pulled it completely on his shoulders, before joining Dean inside the building.

It was packed with people and impossibly huge, Sam gaping about himself after taking only a few steps inside. He knew, or at least was pretty sure that airports were big, but he never imagined them to be this freaking vast, the large space confusing him for a second. There were panels hanging from the ceiling, arrows pointing toward shops and toilets. The floor under his feet and the walls were all white and polished-looking, shining bright and clean, and the constant buzz of people coming and going around him had Sam turning in circles, disoriented and slightly overwhelmed, though all bewilderment left him in the very moment he realized he was alone.

He couldn’t see Dean anywhere, strained his eyes and squinted into the sea of human life surrounding him, but still nothing. Great, they weren’t even on the plane yet, but he already managed to screw up and get himself lost. He wasn’t even surprised by his ability to get himself in situations such as this one; however that reluctant acceptance did nothing to calm his nerves, as he was still very much lost in the great swarm of people, many of them sporting some rather painful-looking sunburns, while others wore black or gray suits, as if going off to work.

Sam clutched the straps by his chest and ventured further into the building, trying not to seem too much like an abandoned child as he looked for Dean. That was a task easier said than done, though, because his apprehension was skyrocketing with each passing second, them feeling like minutes to him right now. He was extremely on edge, his eyes darting left and right as he scanned the inside of the building, which seemed never-ending and simply stretching on forever, Sam only walking further into the beast’s belly and trapping himself in the process. He knew he couldn’t call out for Dean, couldn’t use his real name, but using the fake one might not even work, the boy maybe thinking the panicked voice was calling for someone else, which left him with no choice but to just keep walking blindly forward.

It was horrible, Sam now realizing that he wouldn’t have been able to survive here alone, and suddenly, he wanted Dean to be here. He wanted the boy to be next to him and keep him company, to reassure him or even make fun of him, Sam didn’t care, he just wanted to be found, didn’t want to be alone. It was weird, because that’s exactly what he was yearning for before, but now it scared him, the helplessness going to his head and twisting his thoughts into despicable scenarios, until he was running—as much as one could run while carrying a heavy luggage and a backpack—aimlessly, eyes wide and feeling the first signs of hyperventilation. He only managed to reach another panel hanging overhead, when he felt a firm hand on his arm, grabbing him, and Sam let out an involuntary gasp at that, instantaneously tugging and trying to free his arm.

“Hey, snap out of it!” he heard Dean yell, and he stilled, spinning around to stare up at the scowling boy. “What are you doing? You need to stay close to me, and don’t wander off again, understood?”

Sam blinked and nodded, feeling incredibly stupid, but glad that he wasn’t alone anymore. It was only a passing thought, one he was pretty quick to shove to the back of his mind and forget, as apparently while looking for Dean, he became a bit…desperate. Anyway, that was only because he was panicking, not because he actually wanted to see the boy or anything, so after taking a deep breath and calming down, he followed the other, this time closely.

They walked with their suitcases to a short line of people, stopping at the end, where Dean turned around to look at him. “Alright, let me do the talking. You just nod and smile, pretend you’re enthusiastic.”

“Uh-huh…” Sam said skeptically, confident that he could at least talk without getting them busted, but didn’t feel like starting an argument right now. Actually, he was kinda feeling like crap. Stressed and a bit jumpy, the excitement he thought he would feel the first time he’d get to board a plane non-existent, along with his previously strong belief that he could’ve done this one his own. Sure, he was still positive that there were a few things he could pull off, as he wasn’t completely incapable, quite the opposite really, but he had to come to terms with the fact that, maybe, he might actually need Dean. Maybe. Kind of.

When it was finally their turn, he stepped over to the counter, standing next to Dean and keeping still as the boy fished out their passports and tickets from the bag on Sam’s back, before sliding them to the woman on the other side of the check-in desk.

She took them with a brisk smile that was more forced than genuine, looked over them, then handed Dean their boarding pass while he and Sam were lifting their suitcases and placing them in the space between the desks, presumably where passengers had to check their baggage in. Once that was done, the boy pocketed the papers they received and gave the fake passports back to Sam, who reached back and performed some pretty impressive moves as he slid them into his backpack.

They moved away from the desk, then when they were out of earshot, Dean stopped and turned to him with a serious look etched onto his face. “Now comes the hard part,” he said, then frowned. “Well, it’s actually not that difficult unless you mess up.”

“Ever thought that, maybe, you’d be the one to screw up?” Sam retorted, raising an eyebrow at the other as he folded his arms, going for an accusing and somewhat witty look.

Dean scoffed. “Me? In your dreams, kiddo,” he stated with an annoying smirk. “In your dreams.”

“Remind me, who saved your ass from getting shot?” Sam pointed out, pleased to note the slight twitch in the boy’s smirk. Maybe he should start teasing the other from now on, see how he liked the taste of his own medicine.

“I could’ve handled that situation by myself,” Dean asserted, to what he just rolled his eyes.

“Maybe,” he said, then added with a thin smirk of his own, “in your dreams.”

The boy gave him a look, seeming like he was resisting the urge to smack him in the back of his head, but in the end he just let out an irritated sigh and nodded toward another series of queues. “How about you concentrate on the task at hand, instead of trying to play the macho guy?” he sneered, and now it was Sam’s turn to clench his hands in order to stop himself from hitting the other. Not like he could ever get away with actually doing something like that, but he could always hope.

“Fine, whatever,” he muttered, then was marching off to the lines of people before he could’ve witnessed Dean’s surely smug grin.

He picked a row that was moving fairly quickly, compared to the rest, but as the people fell away from before him and the closer he got to the security officers and the oppressing metal detector, the more he felt like turning on his heel and getting the hell out of here. They were merely transporting candy, so that should be fine, but you could never know, right? What if they had some sort of special equipment, a machine that could detect traces of heroin, could freaking smell the drug inside its makeshift package or something? Sam had no idea, but how could he? So of course he was beginning to panic, but then he had to also remind himself that he was supposed to do anything _but_ panic which, of course, just caused him to become even more nervous, sending him into a never-ending loop of anxiety. He was pretty sure at this point that he had some anxiety problems too. What a great and happy thing to discover, really.

“Sam.” He heard his name from behind, then felt Dean’s hand on his shoulder as he turned his head to look at the boy. “You need to calm down. Seriously, you look like you’re about to have a mental breakdown.”

He nodded, but wasn’t so sure he could put on a straight face. “I’m trying,” he said after a moment, slipping his hands in his pants pockets to at least stop them from moving all the time.

Dean let go of him and took a step back. “Yeah, well try harder because it’s our turn,” he told Sam, who swallowed hard as he saw the officer standing next to the metal detector door motion for him to pass through.

Alright, it was fine. He had done this before, when he and those two couriers crossed the Mexican border. He could pretend that he belonged, that he was just a normal kid going on a trip to France, carrying some completely harmless candy in his bag that were totally not filled with drugs. Yeah, easy.

He walked over to the conveyor belt and shrugged out of the backpack, then placed it on the rubber belt and watched as it moved forward, before disappearing inside the X-ray scanner. When he couldn’t see it anymore, Sam strolled through the detector, which thankfully stayed silent. He knew he didn’t have anything made of metal on him, not even a belt for his pants, but that didn’t stop him from unconsciously worrying that maybe someone up there had a bone to pick with him and would make the machine go off. Still, it didn’t, and he let out a silent sigh of relief as he stopped on the other side, and waited for Dean to take off his belt, then place it on the little container on the conveyor along with the thick, grooved silver ring on his finger, before joining him.

The officer that was studying their boarding pass, which Dean had handed over to him beforehand, nodded his head and gave the papers back to the boy as he was putting his belt back on, then stepped over to the conveyor. The man sitting behind the scanner pointed at the screen and said something, but Sam was too busy breaking out in cold sweat to listen, because what if they knew? Okay, no, that was impossible. His fears about the scanner pinpointing drugs was just a paranoid thought made up by his imagination, right? It wasn’t real.

But as he watched the officer grab the bag and open it, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Is there a problem?” Dean asked coolly, as if a security officer wasn’t in the middle of pulling out the plastic bag filled with hidden drugs.

The man glanced at the bag, before looking at the boy. “Don’t you have a food container to put this in? We allow certain foods on the plane, but only if they are properly sealed, especially when they contain liquids.”

Sam was going to shut up and let Dean do the talking, he decided. He wasn’t going to worsen their situation by opening his mouth and blurting something unnecessary; however that plan was failing rapidly as the officer locked eyes with him, then frowned, why was he frowning?

It took him a moment to realize that it was probably because Sam’s face was kind of an open book right now, but before he could’ve put on his poker face, the man was already untying the knot on the plastic bag and opening it. Cursing himself, and then feeling even worse when Dean gave him a look that clearly said “Good job, idiot”, Sam watched as the officer pulled out a red candy and lifted it to his eyes, inspecting it.

This was all of his fault, he realized right then, and so it was his job to make this right. No more fuck ups, he needed to do this right and save them from this crappy situation that he had put them in. So, swallowing down all of his dread and stress, he moved over to the bag and gave the security officer one of his best fake smiles, along with an innocent puppy eyes look.

“Is there something wrong with my candies?” he asked, tilting his head and hoping he had some hidden acting skills.

“I don’t know,” the man said, raising an eyebrow at him as he tossed the candy back into the bag. “You tell me. You seemed rather nervous when I opened the bag…”

“Oh, he gets like that all the time,” Dean remarked as he stepped up behind Sam, coming to the rescue. “Poor kid thinks everyone wants to steal his stuff. Don’t ask me why, I’ve been trying to figure it out for years now.”

The man scowled at the boy, Sam pretty sure that Dean’s suspicious-looking eyepatch was only making the officer doubt their credibility even more. It didn’t seem like he was buying their bullshit, which was really bad, so he had to do something and quick. Thousands of thoughts spun around in his mind, there were hundreds of things he could’ve said, but in a moment of panic, he did the first thing—which he later realized was also the stupidest damn thing—that came to his mind, and he grabbed a candy from the bag and popped it into his mouth.

“Yep. Sorry, but these are mine,” he said, pretending to enjoy it while quickly trapping it under his tongue to make sure it stayed where it was.

The officer regarded him for a long moment, before nodding and stepping aside.

“Sorry about that,” Dean said with a smile as he closed the backpack and pushed Sam forward, getting as much distance between them and the guards as possible before stopping. When they did, he flashed him a look that was the mix of amazement and bafflement, shaking his head. “That was one hell of a way to save the situation.”

Sam grunted his agreement, pulling a face and ready to spit into the nearest bin, his eye lighting up when he finally spotted one. Holding up a finger and signaling for Dean to wait a second, he wandered over to the trashcan, wondering how the candy part of the drug in his mouth wasn’t actually that bad as he played with it with his tongue, when someone with a big-ass suitcase backed into him, nearly causing the candy to fall out of his mouth. Sam not needing to look like a total idiot any more than he already did today, quickly covered his mouth with his hand, then made the second biggest mistake that day by swallowing.

It was such a reflexive thing to do when trying to keep something from falling out of his mouth, that he didn’t even realize what he had done until he felt the hard candy in his throat, slowly sliding down, before he couldn’t feel it anymore.

Aw crap.

He began coughing, spinning around and looking at Dean with wide eyes, the boy raising his eyebrows at him with a questioning look on his face, but it didn’t take too long for him to catch on and mutter a low curse as he hurried over to Sam.

“Are you serious?” he asked with an incredulous laugh, grabbing the younger boy’s shoulders and looking straight into his eyes.

“It just happened, I couldn’t…” Sam tried speaking, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he’d get hysterical, because this couldn’t be happening. There was simply just no way that he was such a huge freaking idiot, no way that he managed to swallow a candy filled with goddamn heroin. “Oh fuck, Dean, this—this is really bad,” he stammered, his eyes darting around the airport and, yep, he was going to hyperventilate, this was awesome.

“Sam, hey!” Dean yelled, snapping him out of him frenzy. “Listen, it’s okay. You can throw it up, right? It just entered your stomach, there’s no way that you’ve already digested it. We just need to find a toilet and you’ll be fine.”

Sam nodded franticly, not even realizing he was gripping the boy’s shirt until now. Quickly letting go and withdrawing his hands, he stepped away with downcast eyes, trying to calm down, but that wasn’t so easy with the knowledge that he had heroin inside him, sitting all neat and snug inside its candy cage, just ready to spill out and…and what? Would Sam even be able to get high like this? Oh no, he really didn’t want to get drugged, hell no. He didn’t give a shit how it was supposed to feel good or whatever, he did not want this thing inside him.

“C’mon, let’s find you a toilet,” he heard Dean say, so he looked up and walked after him, until he caught a glimpse of a big screen hanging from the ceiling, and his blood turned to ice.

“Dean…” he whispered, the boy immediately halting and turning around, before following Sam’s eyes and looking at the screen.

And then he cursed.

“Are you kidding me? Ten minutes?” the boy growled, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “What kind of fucked up schedule is that?”

They were staring up at an electronic board displaying all sorts of flight information, along with the time remaining until a take-off. Their plane, the one departing from Albuquerque and arriving to Paris, was supposed to leave at 13:15, and one glance at the large, round clock mounted on a wall not too far from them told him it was already five past one.

He didn’t know how to react anymore, pretty sure that he has reached that specific point in panicking that he was just shutting down. Dean glanced at him, then at the passport control area, seemingly fighting an inner battle before sighing and taking a hold of Sam’s wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he sounded genuine enough for Sam to look up at him. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have time. You just have to wait until we’re on the plane, gotta try getting rid of the drug when we’re there.”

And then the boy was pulling him toward one of the counters, while he was silently freaking out. How much time would it take? First they’d need to take off, get steady in the air, and only then could passengers get out of their seats and walk around, right? Or could they do it before, too? Sam didn’t know, had no idea about anything anymore. He was feeling extremely useless and helpless in this situation he had gotten himself into, but that wasn’t even the worse. It was the waiting. He couldn’t do anything but wait, and as each second trickled by, it felt like he was on some sort of sick rollercoaster that kept playing with his mind, flipping a switch on and off. One moment he was panicking and thinking of the most horrible things the drug could be doing inside him right now, his own brain and imagination scaring himself, and then next he was calm, taking deep breaths and telling himself that it was going to be fine, they’d get to the toilet on the plane in time and he wouldn’t have to experience anything he didn’t want to. Rinse, repeat.

And while on the inside there was a whole party going on in his mind, he was quite sure that his face was fixed in one expression, with slightly wide eyes and a blank look, like someone coming down from shock. He wasn’t really aware of what was going on around him anymore, just letting Dean drag him around from one place to another, until Sam found himself standing at the boarding gate, getting some papers shoved in his hands.

Deciding to at least act relatively normal while boarding the plane, he stepped forward when it was his turn, got his passport and boarding pass checked, then followed Dean down the corridor that led outside and to the plane waiting for its passengers, already loud and looking strangely menacing.

They climbed up the stairs and found their seats after a while in the sea of blue chairs, which was around the middle of the left row. A woman—looking like she was on a business trip, what with the formal clothes and the black briefcase by her legs—was already sitting in the window seat, and before Sam could’ve done anything, Dean was already sitting down in the middle, leaving him no choice but to take the seat on the outside.

There was a pause, a brief moment of silence, as he watched some of the other passengers get on, distracting himself with that, but then his attention was drawn by the boy next to him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, actually sounding concerned which was a rarity, so it took Sam a second to answer.

He shifted in his seat and sighed, staring at the back of the chair in front of him. “Not sure. Can’t feel its effects yet, so that’s great. Though I’m not even sure what heroin…what that thing does,” he said, slowly raising his gaze to the other, while absentmindedly chewing on his lips. “Other than that, I’m kinda flippin’ out.”

Dean sighed. “I can imagine. And I know that me saying this won’t help, but you do need to calm down. I mean I’m not an expert or anything, but I think if you get too worked up, it might…” He trailed off, glancing at Sam’s stomach, and he was right, that really wasn’t helping at all.

Shaking his head, he gripped the bag on his lap, as he needed to hold something right now. It was either that, or he was going to start biting his nails, which wasn’t too sanitary. “It’s easy to say, but much harder to do. I am actually trying, you know?” he said with a shaky sigh of his own, resting his chin on the bag and going back to watching the men and women pacing around the seats as he continued. “But I just can’t stay calm, at least not until I’m sure that it didn’t enter my system. Not knowing, needing to wait…it’s the worst. I can’t stop thinking about all the things that could happen.”

He felt a hand on his arm as the boy patted him, then heard him say, “Sam, you do know that it won’t eat you, right? It’ll only leave you feeling like shit if it’s your third or fifth time taking it, but first? And you didn’t even shoot it up, but swallowed. I bet you’ll barely feel a thing, let alone get fucked up by it, so really, you can stop worrying.”

“You’re talking like I’ve got no choice,” he observed, slightly turning in his seat to frown at Dean.

“Well,” he said, shrugging, “I’m just telling you what to expect if you won’t be able to throw it up.”

Sam honestly hoped it wouldn’t come to that as he leaned back and tried to get as comfortable as possible while fastening his seatbelt. The air hostess was at the front of the plane, explaining the safety procedures in case of an accident, the doomsday talk not helping with his “Keep calm and find inner peace” plan. When that was finally over, the airplane began moving, managing to slightly distract him. This was the first time he was on a plane, after all, the first time he’d get to fly and see the cities from above, be as close as never before to the fluffy clouds he used to gaze up at on lonely days in his bedroom.

He did not expect for the plane to go nearly vertical while ascending.

“Jesus, is this normal?!” he asked, to what Dean just laughed.

“Yeah it is, don’t piss your pants,” the boy said teasingly, then let out another laugh when Sam shot him a glare.

“Shut up,” he suggested kindly, holding onto the hard armrests until his fingers hurt as they kept moving up, and look, Sam could see the pilot’s door even from where he was sitting with this angle.

He decided he did not like this part of flying.

After approximately two more minutes of going up and then moving back to a more or less horizontal position, Sam waited until the flight attendants reappeared and some of the passengers got out of their seats, before letting up on the death grip and unbuckling his seatbelt too.

“Want me to come?” Dean asked as the other tossed the backpack in the now empty chair after he stood up, but with the sarcasm dripping from his voice, Sam quickly shot him a glare and then, without a word, headed off toward where he believed the toilets were.

He found them relatively quickly, and his heart sank when he saw the red “Occupied” sign on one of them, but his disappointment was short-lived, as in the next moment he noticed that there was another door in front of the first one he had spotted, this one with a green “Vacant” on it. Pressing his lips together and bracing himself for the sight, praying that airplane restrooms were clean and not like the public one he had to use that one time, he opened the door and felt instantly relieved.

The toilet was very small, that much was true, but it was also extremely clean. That could’ve been because he was the first one to use this one, but anyway, it was nice and it made Sam impossibly glad. There was a sink on the counter right in front of the door, along with a mirror above said counter, covering most of the wall, which wasn’t that big. Stepping inside and locking the door behind him, he wondered how to go about this. The toilet was to his right, giving him just enough room to kneel down and lean over it, but then paused. Was he supposed to shove his fingers down his throat? He read that usually helped with self-induced vomiting, but the thought of doing that made him pull a face. Still, that wouldn’t be the most unpleasant thing he’d have done in his life, so after getting back on his feet and thoroughly washing his hands, Sam was back on his knees, hoping that there was still time to avoid getting high.

“Alright, just…yeah,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and thinking of anything disgusting that came to mind, before raising his index finger and pressing it down against the very back of his throat.

He gagged, it was horrible, but he wasn’t throwing up. Sam tried again, but another failure. Then again and again, growling in frustration as he leaned closer to the toilet and shoved his finger further back, making some weird choking noises, but aside from sounding like some freaking walrus suffering from a stroke, he couldn’t accomplish anything. He was heaving, feeling sick to his stomach, but nothing was coming out. The drug wasn’t coming out, it was still inside him, and his hand that was gripping the toilet seat began shaking. This couldn’t be happening. He took his sweet time getting here, and now it was too late. He had heroin in his fucking stomach, and there was nothing he could do about it. But that was just his luck; really, it shouldn’t even have surprised him anymore. Who else would accidentally swallow some drugs, if not Sam Winchester?

Getting to his feet with a defeated sigh, he wiped his mouth and then flushed the toilet to make anyone waiting in front of the door believe he used it, the loud sound it made as Sam pressed the button nearly making him jolt. Then he was out, stepping aside to let a kid with her parents through, before shuffling back to his seat, the look on his face telling everything to Dean without him needing to speak.

“Nothing, huh?” he asked as Sam sat down and wrapped his arms around the backpack that had become some sort of hug pillow to him.

“This sucks…” he mumbled, shaking his head, his shoulders slouching.

Dean leaned a bit closer, nudging him with his elbow. “I already told you that you’ll be just fine, so stop crying over spilled milk. It’s done, but it’ll be alright, so how about you think of something else?” he said, tilting his head to look Sam in the eyes, the younger boy reluctantly meeting his searching gaze and regretting doing so when Dean smirked. “You know I checked, and the flight’s gonna take around twelve hours. I honestly doubt you’ll survive if you keep worrying for that long.”

Sam’s mouth kind of fell open. “What? Twelve hours…?” he asked, the color draining from his face, and then he bumped the back of his head against the seat while groaning. “No, yeah, I can’t do that. I wish I could speed up time somehow, but nooo, I’m stuck in this damn plane, forced to wait until something happens. Or not, I don’t even know if anything’s gonna happen, maybe I won’t feel a thing, or maybe I’ll get sick or faint. Crap, what’s heroin supposed to do to you anyway?”

Dean merely chuckled at his nervous babble, leaning back in his own seat and pulling out a small iPod from an inner pocket of his leather jacket. “It’ll make you chill out, and I sure hope it kicks in pretty quick. You need it, kid,” he mentioned with a wink, before putting the earphones in his ears and blocking Sam out completely.

Great, so now he couldn’t even talk to the human embodiment of rudeness sitting next to him to pass the time. Lovely, just what he needed in this situation. Leaning his elbow on the armrest to his right, he held his face with a hand and let the skin on his cheek squash under his palm like Play-Doh, watching the come and go of the passengers without any real interest whatsoever.

This was going to be a really long flight…

 


	10. Blown Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...  
> Stuff happens.  
> And I'm late with the chapter again.  
> Forgive me.

 

Not even one hour has passed, but Sam was already suffering, reaching the point where he was beginning to play with the thought of throwing a major hissy fit.

He usually had no problem occupying his mind when bored, busying himself with thinking about all sorts of things, or just watching the ongoing life in front of his eyes; however this time each passing thought ultimately spiraled down into a darker place, and every time his eyes traveled the inside of the plane in search of something interesting, he always ended up glancing at the clock on the screens suspended from the ceiling, which also wasn’t helping at all.

Sam knew he had to calm the hell down. It frustrated him, but once again, Dean was right. It was simply no use spending more than eleven hours on a plane, doing nothing aside from constantly worrying. His nerves were protesting too, so after the boy shut him out and he was left to deal with his anxiety alone, Sam decided that, fuck this, he was going to relax, whether his body and mind wanted it or not.

At first, he was actually doing pretty well. After a quick breathing exercise, his pulse was more or less back to normal, and then he even managed to find a few methods to keep himself busy. He hummed and tapped his fingers on the armrest, tried to recall whole books and go over their stories in his head, then when he saw one of the hostesses pushing a food cart, his eyes lit up with hope. Then he spent the next few minutes munching on some peanuts and cherry croissants he bought—with Dean’s money, of course—and sipping on a bottle of apple juice. Eating and drinking could only distract him for so long, and when he ran out of food, Sam was back to square one, chewing on his lips and folding the napkins he got into random shapes to pass the time.

After the fifth failed attempt at making a swan out of the stubborn white paper, he crumpled it with a huff and tried sleeping. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing or on the noises going on around him, which worked for approximately ten minutes, until his stomach made a sound. That immediately had him opening his eyes and sitting straight up, realizing that maybe giving his intestines some more things to digest wasn’t such a great idea after all, and then he was back to wondering when he’d start feeling the drug’s effects. Would it take another hour? Maybe half an hour? Or maybe just a few more seconds? It was maddening, forced to wait for the inevitable, and while he wouldn’t have really minded if the drug would only make him “chill out”, he couldn’t have been certain that would happen. He wouldn’t know until it happened, and after a while Sam found himself wishing for the heroin to start working already, just so he could relax, because he really, really wasn’t a fan of behaving like some twitchy maniac.

He let out his longest sigh yet as he slid down in his seat, blowing at his bangs in exasperation, and just as he began wondering if such a high amount of anxiety could eventually cause a heart attack, he noticed Dean moving from the corner of his eye.

The boy took out his earphones and tossed them in his lap, turning in his seat to fix Sam with an annoyed glare. “Would you stop it already?” he blurted, making the other furrow his brow.

“Stop it? You think I’m doing this on purpose?” Sam sat up completely and returned the boy’s glare, letting all of his frustration out on him. “You think I’m enjoying this? You think this—me unable to sit still for even one moment without suffering from several mini mental breakdowns while waiting for that fucking shit to start showing its effects on me—is fun? Well let me tell you, it isn’t! I don’t need this, don’t want to feel this way, but no matter how much I try to ignore it or make myself stop, it just gets so much worse. And you, being the great, big and unhelpful asshole that you are, don’t get to tell me what to do; not while you’re just sitting there in your little comfort zone, being all…bossy!”

Dean blinked at him, probably a bit taken aback by Sam’s sudden outburst, but that was just as well. He didn’t need the boy’s opinion if all he could do was be a jerk about his suffering. Maybe he’d turn the tables and ignore him for the rest of the flight, see how that’d make him feel.

“Fine,” he said after a moment, Sam raising an eyebrow at him when Dean grabbed the backpack from his lap and began rummaging through it, before pulling out the blanket which he quite literally threw in the other’s face.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked as he caught the soft, makeshift weapon before it could’ve whacked him in the face, watching as the boy closed the bag and slid it under the chair.

Dean looked at him strangely, then flashed him such a dirty grin Sam wasn’t so sure if he wanted to know the answer to his question anymore. The boy moved closer and took the blanket from his hands, before unfolding it and draping it across him, so it was covering his shoulders and legs, some of the orange fabric even reaching Dean’s lap.

“You want my help, right?” the boy asked, not waiting for an answer as he slipped his arm under the blanket, and then Sam’s eyes immediately widened, his breath hitching when he felt a hand on his thigh. “Well, let me distract you then.”

“W-What?!” Sam just stared at Dean for a long moment, his brain trying to process what was going on, but when the hand began moving up his thigh, it quickly became pretty freaking clear what the boy had in mind. He was still kind of in shock, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing the other’s hand under the blanket and ripping it away from his body, before flashing him a deadly glare. “Are you out of your mind?” he hissed, his eyes darting around the plane to make sure that nobody was watching them.

“Hey, I’m just trying to be nice, since I’m a…” Dean trailed off, licking his lips and leaning closer, much too close. “An unhelpful asshole, was it?” he whispered in Sam’s ear, chuckling when the younger boy shivered rather visibly.

“You’re insane,” he whispered back, moving as far away from the other in his seat as possible. “I mean I get you’re a goddamn pervert by now, but this? This is a new low, even for you.”

But Dean just laughed, then was grabbing a hold of him and pulling him back, Sam withdrawing his hands from under the blanket to try to push him away, but then the boy was leaning even closer, his lips brushing Sam’s ear, and he couldn’t do anything aside from look away.

“Come on,” he purred, his voice the same deep rumble whenever he got so close, making Sam realize that, maybe, it was lust he could hear in it, though truly hoping he was wrong. “You need to relax, and trust me, I could do a real good job at taking your mind off things.”

Sam clutched at the blanket and shook his head, cursing his body for reacting to Dean’s words, his face heating up with a pleasant warmth that gradually traveled down, making it hard for him to move a muscle anymore.

“No thanks,” he muttered with downcast eyes, unable to meet the boy’s gaze; but then he was whipping his head around and staring at Dean when the hand was back on his leg, giving his knee a soft squeeze.

“Sammy, you know you want it,” he stated with a lecherous grin plastered across his face. “And the more you fight it, the more obvious what we’re doing is gonna be to others. Is that what you want? You want them to know I’m touching you?”

Sam’s eyes widened, his whole face probably as red as a damn lobster as he opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t trust his voice right now, so he just shook his head instead.

Dean, on the other hand, seemed pretty eager to keep on speaking. “Then let me do this for you,” he drawled, and this time Sam couldn’t help but snort.

“For me?” he scoffed, glaring weakly at the boy. “As if you’re doing this to help. You just…you’re just taking advantage of the situation, like always.”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “And are you complaining? Are you telling me that you don’t like this?” he asked as he began to slowly, so very painstakingly slowly, slide his hand up Sam’s leg, the younger boy tensing completely as the hand just continued its journey up and up, then he had to bite down on his bottom lip when Dean stopped at the very top of his thigh.

“I don’t…” He tried, but the boy was already chuckling.

“You’re such a bad liar, Sammy,” he said, before leaning back in his own seat, Sam realizing with alarm that like this, they seemed like two completely normal people sitting next to each other, the blanket on them hiding anything indecent and giving Dean every opportunity to touch him.

“Wait, d-don’t…!” Sam hissed, couldn’t believe that this idiot was seriously planning on doing this here of all places, but then he was gasping, freezing into a complete statue as the boy’s hand moved to his crotch and began stroking him through his jeans.

Oh god, what kind of torture was this?

Sam gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw as hard as he could and looked away, needed to have his eyes on anything but the blanket under which Dean was touching him, gently palming his crotch before giving it a sudden, harsh squeeze. That had him gasping again, Sam quickly covering his mouth and feeling so goddamn embarrassed that he didn’t even know how to react aside from gripping the armrests like his life depended on it. And now it was so much worse, because at least before he could hate Dean. Before, he could kind of fight it and say no, but now… Now it was as clear as day that he was attracted to him, or at least his body was very much so, and while he didn’t want to give in without even putting up a fight, Sam knew that he had no chance at winning. This was sick and wrong, and freaking weird, but it was also his first time experiencing a feeling such as this and he liked it.

He liked Dean touching him, damn it!

His hands began to twitch and tremble from the force he was using to hold onto the armrests. His knuckles were slowly turning white, and Sam winced in slight pain as he sank his teeth in his bottom lip, not enough to draw blood, but hard enough for it to hurt but also keep the sounds that desperately wanted to escape him at bay, since it wasn’t that easy to stay silent with Dean’s hand living a life of its own under the blanket. The boy teased him, groping and stroking and kneading the growing erection in his pants, and then Sam had to squeeze his eyes shut, letting out a silent whimper when the hand unbuttoned him and slid in his underwear.

“That’s it,” Dean purred lowly, his voice barely a whisper so only Sam would hear him. “You’re so hard for me, Sammy, fuckin’ love this, don’t you?” He chuckled when the trembling boy ducked his head in shame and then made another small sound when Dean wrapped his fingers around his shaft, stroking him with his thumb. Sam actually had to fight the urge to buck into the touch, which only made him blush even more, and then he had to wonder if the human body was really capable to self-combust, because it certainly felt like he was getting burned from the inside out by a searing fire when Dean leaned a bit closer and whispered, “Love my hand on you, stroking you…right, little brother?”

“Dean, wha—” he began, but was quickly cut off by his own gasp when the boy nipped at his earlobe before pulling away.

“We’re brothers, aren’t we?” he said with a wink, then tightened his grip around Sam’s cock and began moving his hand, sliding it up and down, twisting and pulling and stroking him slowly, and drawing a pathetic little whimper from him.

Crap, the touching was one thing, but Dean calling him his little brother shouldn’t have turned him on like this. It was so wrong, but for some reason so hot, and Sam’s body was hot too, ablaze but then not, then he was fine. Like really fine, and he let out a long breath he didn’t even realize he was holding in, relaxing and melting into the boy’s hand, suddenly feeling somewhat mellow.

“Hmm?” Dean raised an eyebrow when Sam bucked into the touch, not even trying to stop himself as he leaned his head back, his eye half-lidded, panting through his parted lips. Noticing the change, the boy watched him for a moment, before giving him a knowing look, along with a pretty nasty grin. “Finally… I thought it would never kick in.”

Sam only wondered for a moment what Dean was talking about, before his brain caught on, also noticing that something wasn’t quite right. He was taking slow but deep breaths, shallow ones, and he was feeling sort of drowsy. The blanket on him felt warmer, but not that uncomfortable kind of warm that would make him rip his clothes off—it was pleasant and soft, and he welcomed it with open arms like everything else. He felt at ease, happy even, all his worries seemingly washed away by this feeling that, after a long while, he finally realized was the heroin.

And then he couldn’t help but giggle, because he was high while getting a _handjob_ from another boy, and he was loving it.

“Dean,” he moaned, scraping his nails down the armrests and rolling his hips, needing more. Blinking his eyes open, he gazed at the boy, then felt a violent shiver rip through him as he saw the dark and hungry, the electric look in the other’s eye, Dean seeming like he was finding it hard to control himself, which became pretty evident from the strain in his voice.

“Wow, Sammy,” he breathed, somehow managing to sound amazed and horny at the same time, before pulling his hand out of Sam’s underwear and drawing a pitiful sound from the younger boy, who really wasn’t liking the loss, needed that warm hand on him so bad.

He gazed up at the other, watching lazily as Dean climbed out of his seat and moved the blanket out of the way, discarding it in the now empty chair as he helped Sam to his feet, and then he was being dragged toward the back of the plane, knowing that maybe he should protest, but couldn’t quite remember why exactly. His limbs felt heavy and he kept needing to wet his lips, which were always so dry, just like his mouth, and by the time they reached the lavatory, it was a miracle Sam didn’t just collapse on the floor and fall asleep.

But he didn’t, and the next thing he knew, he was inside the bathroom, being slammed into the door and kissed breathless by a very talented tongue.

His mind too clouded to think, he chose not to bother with using it right now, and instead just wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and kissed him back, opening his mouth for the boy to use as he pleased. Sam moaned into the hot kiss, his eyes fluttering shut when the wet, nice and warm tongue slid alongside his, swirling around and licking it, before taking it between his teeth and sucking on it, making Sam whine.

“Yeah, that’s right baby boy,” Dean whispered lowly when they pulled away for air, mumbling the slightly hoarse, deep with scorching desire, words against the other’s lips. “So obedient for me like this, so adorable; so fuckin’ hot.”

Sam gave him a sheepish look and licked his lips, his skin tingling with an amount of lust he has never felt before, but instead of scaring or confusing him, it just made him lean in and capture Dean’s lower lip between his and nibble on it playfully. That had the boy growling in a matter of seconds, the animalistic sound doing some real nasty things to Sam’s erection, and then he was being manhandled, pulled away from the door and lifted with way too much ease, before placed on the counter next to the sink. This way he was nearly as tall as Dean, that thought making him grin stupidly and grab the boy’s face, tugging him into a quick kiss.

Easing away with a groan, Dean grabbed the other’s wrists and tore his hands away from his face, his hold painfully tight and making Sam whimper. “You need to stop that,” the boy panted, looking like some animal ready to pounce, “or I’m gonna snap and fuck you right here. Bend you over and pound your tight little ass until you’re screaming.”

“Oh…” was all he could say to that, not sure why but kind of liking the sound of that. He had a passing thought, realizing just how big of a pervert he was while high, but then said thought was quickly gone, replaced by words such as “more” and “feels good” that swirled inside his mind as Dean continued kissing him, this time on his neck.

“So pretty,” he mouthed against the skin on his throat, licking hot stripes up and down his neck and making Sam lean back on one hand, using the other to caress the back of the boy’s neck, playing with his hair while throwing his head back and moaning in approval. The hand on Dean’s neck was quickly removed though, the boy moving it to Sam’s mouth and flashing him a suggestive grin. “Keep your voice in, Sammy. Can’t let you get too loud from what I’m about to do to you.”

Slowly, he nodded and clasped his hand over his mouth, already needing to press it harder against the flesh when Dean ripped his pants and underwear off, pulling them over his shoes, the aggressive action making him whimper loudly.

“Shh, that’s my good little boy,” he praised, pushing Sam further back so that he was sitting with his back leaning against the mirror, and then stroked his hips, drawing circles in the other’s skin with the pad of his thumbs. “Nice and quiet for me, just for me.”

Biting down on his hand to stop himself from reacting too loudly to the sweet praises, Sam peered at Dean through his bangs, a few strands of his hair already sticking to his sweaty forehead. He only now realized that he was sweating, the comfortable warmth from before finally becoming too much and making him want to shed his clothes. Well, at least those that were still on him, because from the waist down, he was butt naked. Curious, he glanced down at himself, another rush of warmth hitting him, his face flushing as he saw just how hard he was. And then he didn’t even have time to process what he was seeing before Dean hooked his hands under his knees and raised them, putting Sam’s feet on the counter and spreading his legs obscenely wide, making the trembling boy scurry back in embarrassment even in the drowsy, drug-induced state he was in.

Chuckling at his reaction, the boy licked his lips like some famished wolf and grabbed his knees again, which Sam had closed when he moved back. “Come now, no need to be shy,” he purred, his voice dangerously deep and low, coming from his chest and dripping with arousal.

Reluctantly, Sam let him spread his legs again, whimpering when Dean stared at his erection openly and without any shame whatsoever, before giving him an incredibly lewd look. “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that? Can’t believe I really am the only one who gets to see you like this, have you all for myself. Fuck…” Dean growled, suddenly leaning forward and grabbing a fistful of Sam’s hair, before yanking him into a rough, claiming kiss, with too much tongue and teeth, resulting in the younger boy mewling sweetly into the older’s mouth. “Mine,” he declared with a surprising amount of authority in his voice, pulling back and biting down on Sam’s jaw in a way that hurt more than felt good, making him turn his head, but Dean’s hand in his hair was quick to tug him back. “All mine, all of it.”

“Dean, ow,” he whined, frowning when the boy chuckled and nuzzled his cheek, his hands trailing down Sam’s body and up to his knees, before stopping at his spread thighs and caressing them.

“Say it,” Dean ordered, his fingertips digging into the other’s skin as Sam looked up at him. “Let me hear you say it, and I’ll make it up to you. Make you feel so fuckin’ good, Sammy.”

High, horny and kinda confused by everything that was going on, Sam only hesitated for a few moments before nodding his head. “Yours, Dean… I’m yours,” he mumbled, averting his eyes and feeling slightly humiliated, though he quickly forgot all about that when he felt the boy’s lips on his stomach as he pushed the flannel shirt up, a bolt of electric pleasure shooting up his body when Dean nibbled and dipped his tongue in his belly button.

The boy smiled against the sensitive skin. “That’s right,” he said, placing a lingering kiss on Sam’s tummy before brushing his lips down the younger boy’s waist and hips, softly gnawing at the hipbone. He tightened his hold on the other’s thighs and spread his legs even more, so much that it was kinda hurting Sam, but he let Dean do whatever he wanted, because damn, it all felt so good.

However if he thought that Dean teasing his skin was good, Sam was in for a pleasant surprise when he felt the boy’s lips on his pulsing cock.

“Oh god…!” Sam cried, tossing his head back and quickly slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle any further sounds, which wasn’t that easy with Dean kissing along his length. The boy placed a series of wet, open-mouthed kisses from the base to the head, then did the same in reverse, and it wasn’t long before Sam’s legs began shaking from the tiny shockwaves of pleasure each kiss sent rushing through his body. It made his already sensitive skin even more so, it tingling and buzzing with this unrelenting arousal, the nape of his neck already drenched in sweat and he was panting, his chest heaving with his back slightly arched. Feeling Dean’s lips was already good enough, Sam’s mind swimming in a steamy pool of thick, delicious lust from it all, but when he looked down and saw what was happening, watched as the boy glanced up at him and licked those plump, irresistible lips, it was a miracle he didn’t blow his load right then.

His eye gleaming with want, Dean placed one lingering kiss on the head of his cock, all the while keeping eye contact with Sam, before grinning up at him like the sexual predator he was. “Gonna taste you now, baby boy,” he promised, his hot breath ghosting over the other’s throbbing erection and making him let out a miserable, muffled moan.

And Sam wasn’t sure if Dean had done anything like this before, but right now, he wouldn’t have even cared if he did it on a daily basis, because holy fucking shit, the boy was blowing his mind in more ways than one.

He bit down on his hand until it hurt, needing the pain to keep himself from screaming or writhing around. Dean moved one of his hands to his cock and began stroking it, using the tip of his tongue to flick at the slit, circling and poking it teasingly, before licking along the underside. He then tilted his head and licked up and down the shaft, this time with the flat of his tongue, tasting every inch of the skin until Sam’s cock was completely wet, slick and glistening with saliva that covered all of the smooth flesh. Dean’s hand moved to cup his balls, the younger boy whimpering and making soft, needy whines all the while, wanting more, but when he tried thrusting up to somehow hump the air or something, Dean was there to stop him, sinking his nails in his hip as he kept him in place.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, and Sam stilled obediently, turning his head from side to side in both frustration and pleasure, then mainly in pleasure when the boy finally wrapped his lips around his cock, swallowing him.

“De!” he gasped, unable to keep his voice in as the other took him deeper and deeper in his mouth, while massaging his balls and probably bruising his hip. Not quite sure where the nickname came from, but not in a situation where he’d give a crap, Sam kept one hand on his mouth, but moved the other to Dean’s head, grasping at his hair and franticly trying to push him down, his mind clouded by the impossible amount of need coursing through him.

The boy didn’t seem to care about the fingers tangling in his hair, as Sam was too weak to apply any pressure on him in the state he was in, and simply continued the sweet torture on the younger boy’s cock, beginning to bob his head back and forth while humming around the length, sucking hard while swallowing around it. It was all too much, Sam bleeding as his teeth broke the skin on his lips when he tried to keep in his moans, his whimpers and some pretty wanton sounds that tried to escape, especially when he locked eyes with Dean, who held their gaze without looking away once. He kept his dark, sultry eye on Sam, whose own ones were half-lidded and a bit unfocused, this never before felt pleasure going straight to his head and, of course, dick. They watched each other, though Sam found it pretty hard to keep his gaze on Dean while the boy was sucking him, tugging at his balls and moving head this way and that, sometimes grazing his teeth against the skin and sending brutal and sudden shivers down his spine, lightning bolts of ecstasy that pierced through Sam like a spear. The boy did unimaginable things to him—pulled back and suckled on the head while pumping the shaft with his hand, swallowing his balls and playing with them with his tongue until they began to pull up, Sam now whimpering and moaning constantly as Dean formed a tight right with his index finger and thumb, then pumping his leaking cock like that all the while sucking him mercilessly.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed with Dean watching him, moaning and humming around Sam’s cock while making some real nasty and obscene sucking sounds, but after what must’ve been minutes, he just couldn’t take it anymore. He let out a wretched sob, the pleasure too great, and when the boy swallowed him all the way down, going to deepthroat him, Sam hit the back of his head against the mirror and cried out against his hand, coming inside Dean’s mouth with a pathetic moan.

He didn’t even realize he came while his cock was still in the other’s mouth until he felt him swallowing every last bit of Sam’s come, that knowledge making him shiver. When Dean was done cleaning him with his tongue, he placed a kiss on his cheek and grinned down at the spent, panting boy.

“How was that?” he asked, both of them obviously knowing the answer, but the expectant look he gave Sam made him realize he couldn’t stay silent.

“Good,” he whispered, feeling rather sleepy all of a sudden. He blinked up at the boy tiredly, raising a hand to caress his cheek and smiling when Dean glanced at him, clearly surprised. “Really good…”

Then it was Dean’s turn to smile, his wide and happy, but whatever he did or said afterward was a mystery to Sam, for his eyes were now closing on their own accord and he slumped against the mirror, before letting out a satisfied sigh when two strong arms enveloped him, the exhausted boy gladly falling asleep in their warm embrace.

—

 

His dreams were totally messed up.

One second he was back in his old home, with John, learning about life and how precious it was, a rare gem given only to the bravest of humans, and the next he was somewhere dark, could have sworn the shadows were moving, but when he whipped his head around, everything was still and silent as the dead. It was like one of those paintings that made no sense, with a wild sea of every color known to mankind splashed across the canvas to form something surreal, something only the creator knew the meaning of. However instead of colors, Sam’s head was filled with a confusing blur of visions, images flashing before his eyes before retracting and vanishing, merging into yet another scene that was either a memory, or something unknown and bizarre.

He forgot all about them, though, as he stirred sleepily, enjoying the comfortable warmth that clung to him, keeping him nice and sated. It took him a few moments to come back to full consciousness, his hands grasping at thin air before they found the blanket draped over him. He was in a cushioned, but kind of hard chair—the airplane seat, he realized—with the orange blanket covering him snugly. He must have fallen asleep at some point, wondered how long he was out as he unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, making nibbling sounds as he moved from his sleeping position and sat upright in the seat, slowly blinking his eyes open.

The interior of the plane was darker than he remembered. Some of the small, round lamps were on and casting a faint glow on the passengers from above, giving the now dimly lit plane a rather cozy atmosphere. As he looked to his right, he saw the last remaining rays of the sunlight through the windows, only a thin layer between the dark blue sky and the shaded clouds that appeared black under the night sky.

“Hey sleepyhead,” said a voice from his left, snapping Sam out of his reverie and drawing his attention. Turning his head, he gazed up at Dean sitting next to him, the boy’s smile widening when their eyes met. “How are you feeling?”

Sam blinked, then blinked again, then felt simultaneously aghast, mortified, and just a general what-the-fuckness as everything came back to him, his mind assaulted by the memories.

“Uh…um…” he answered intelligently, staring at Dean with wide, shocked eyes, and trying real hard not to go haywire.

The boy raised an eyebrow at him, giving him an amused look as he chuckled. “Whoa, I know I’m good, but I didn’t think my mouth would leave you speechless,” he teased, and Sam wanted nothing more than get swallowed by the ground and disappear. Or just jump out of the airplane, that would have worked too.

Holy fuck.

How did this happen? He couldn’t even wrap his brain around it, it was just so…unbelievable. He received his first blowjob, but it was from Dean, from another boy, and oh god, his reactions. Sam was loving every second of it, he could remember the intoxicating feeling of Dean’s tongue on him, his lips wrapped around him, the memory alone sending a heatwave across his body, making him blush. And he was so damn _needy_ , the heroin doing unimaginable things to him and erasing his thoughts completely, letting his body take the wheel and go crazy. He was incredibly embarrassed, unable to believe what Dean did to him, but it happened, and there was no turning back time.

Also, no matter how much Sam wanted to, really wished to blame the drug, he couldn’t. It made him behave strangely and relaxed him, maybe a bit too much, but he didn’t dislike the sensation of the boy pleasing him; not then, and not now. He wasn’t high anymore, the heroin apparently leaving his system while he slept, but Sam didn’t feel disgusted or regret. He felt really goddamn embarrassed and kind of ashamed of his actions, but that was it. Which really surprised him, because kissing Dean was one thing, but letting the boy suck him off was a whole other level of wrong, of lewd, and Sam wondered if this meant he was gay.

What? No. He wasn’t gay. Nope, he never once found a guy attractive. Well, aside from Dean, but then that would make him straight, but still gay for Dean?

Okay, this was getting confusing. Sam shifted in his seat and pretended that he was invisible, that there wasn’t a perverted pirate smuggler next to him, watching his every move. He seriously needed some time to process what happened, to come to terms with it, but that was pretty hard with the very thing he was trying to ignore leaning well in his personal space and poking his head.

“Hey, lil’ bro,” he said, emphasizing those two words with jabs of his finger. “Stop sulking and look at me.”

Sam pressed his lips together and clutched the blanket, turning his head away from Dean to stare intensely at some woman going through her purse, in order to distract himself from the stubborn finger, which was now gently trailing down his cheek and not making him shiver.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean whispered, a hint of annoyance present in his voice that was coming much closer than before, the younger boy able to feel the other’s presence by his shoulder. “We both know you enjoyed what happened, so this little hard to get act of yours ain’t gonna work anymore.”

He managed to keep staring a hole at the stranger’s purse for around four seconds, before he just couldn’t take that smug idiot’s gaze on him anymore, those words making him lash out in utter embarrassment.

“The hell are you talking about?” he snapped at the boy, shooting a hopefully hard and fierce glare at him. “I didn’t enjoy shit.”

Dean just laughed, shaking his head. “Oh right, so I just imagined it all. You weren’t being responsive, trying to fuck my mouth like some desperate little puppy, didn’t admit with your own words that you belonged to me,” he scoffed, glancing down at Sam’s throat before looking back at him with a glint of twisted glee in his one eye. “And you don’t have any of my marks on your skin which, by the way, I found out is very sensitive.”

Tiny tremors of indignity rippled through his chest, everything that Dean just said making him let loose a miserable sound, Sam so damn embarrassed at this point that the pilot could’ve just used his burning red face as a landing signal. And the worst was, the very worst, that the boy was right, because Sam did say and do all those things, still bore Dean’s—some old and now probably a few new—marks. It was true, but he wasn’t quite ready to accept any of it, and that asshat wasn’t helping either, with his deviant remarks and sly grins.

Sam never understood how some people could feel sexual attraction toward someone without any love involved, without any feelings, but now he got it, though wasn’t too happy about discovering it firsthand.

“It wasn’t me,” he found himself saying after a while, surprised by the cold edge in his voice as he glowered at Dean. “It was just the drug. I was high, Dean, and none of it was real!”

Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he lied. Well, no, it was because Dean was looking all smug and triumphant, and Sam needed time that he knew he wouldn’t get unless he made the boy believe he didn’t like it. However he didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh, only noticing his mistake when he saw the hurt look on the other’s face, Sam needing to do a double take because this was the first time he ever saw Dean like that.

The boy let out a humorless laugh, his smile twitching before withering. “You’re doing it again. You’re lying, Sam, it’s not true,” Dean said, the tone of his voice turning bitter and somewhat irritated, but under it all, there was something desperate. “You liked it, I saw it, I know it. Drugged or not, Sam you…” He trailed off, clenching his jaw and shooting a glare at the other, before growling lowly and leaning back in his seat, looking away from him.

Well, that was surprising. He did not expect that reaction at all. He thought Dean would get angry or keep teasing him until Sam caved in, but apparently he might have taken things a bit too far. Great, now he was feeling guilty. It wasn’t even his fault; Dean started this whole thing, he was the rude ass here, so why was he the one getting angry all of a sudden? That was Sam’s role, damn it. He was supposed to be the one ignoring the boy, not the one getting ignored by him, and it pissed him off how much that annoyed him. Though in a way, he supposed, this was how Dean was feeling all the time. Sam has been doing this to him ever since they met, avoiding him every chance he got, and he had to admit, it wasn’t a really nice feeling. It made him want to say something, but stay quiet at the same time, because it wasn’t like he needed to apologize. He didn’t do anything wrong, right? He was reacting normally; it was Dean who was being pushy and demanding too much from him.

Alright, so maybe he was a bit selfish. And a liar. But Dean was so much worse, so he deserved everything, end of discussion.

Sighing, he pulled the blanket over his shoulders, creating a safe cocoon for himself, then rolled his eyes when he saw the boy pull out the earphones and go back to listening to music. He was supposed to be the older, mature one, yet he was acting like some child throwing a fit, then sulking in his little corner. He did not look like a kid, though—Dean looked more mad than resentful, but Sam remembered the flash of pain in his eye, no matter how quickly it disappeared. And it bemused him, as he didn’t think that the boy was even capable of getting hurt, at least not emotionally. He chewed softly on his bottom lip, careful because of the wound he created there, deep in thought and wondering why Dean reacted the way he did, or what to do now, then when he didn’t find an answer to either of them after a few minutes, Sam decided to just give up for now.

Or maybe he should just apologize.

Nah, Dean took advantage of him, so Sam had every right to be pissy.

He glanced at the time on one of the screens and groaned in frustration. He’d have to stay here for six more hours, and he was already starting to get bored. It was great that he wasn’t a ball of worry anymore, edgy and fidgety while waiting for the heroin to kick in, managing to relax now that the drug was gone, but that unfortunately did not save him from the nagging feeling of impatience as he sat there in his chair. What was he supposed to do for the next few hours? He couldn’t communicate with Dean even if he wanted to, which he didn’t, at all; he didn’t have a phone to play stupid games on or a book to read, no music to listen to. Sure, he could listen in on conversations, if there were any he could hear, but since everybody was speaking in hushed tones and being all considerate not to wake those that were trying to sleep, Sam had no luck there either.

Sinking lower in the seat, he closed his eyes and hoped to go back to sleep. He stayed like that for approximately ten or so minutes before he kicked the blanket off with a vengeance and got out of the chair, going to stretch his legs a bit instead. He sneaked a glance to Dean as he stood next to their row of seats, but when the boy didn’t even acknowledge his existence, Sam ignored the strange, empty feeling in his chest, and walked curiously down the aisle.

There were all sorts of passengers abroad, Sam getting a good look at them as he discovered the plane. From little kids to the elderly, people with different ethnicity, in groups or all alone, there were all sorts of individuals here, and as he wandered around the row upon row of seats, he wondered why. Why did his dad think of them as dangerous? It was true that the only people Sam got to meet and interact with, aside from John, were murderous criminals, so of course they weren’t the best example of humanity he could’ve asked for. And that should have made him believe Johns warnings even more, made him be wary of everyone, to look over his shoulder like a real survivalist; like someone who had lost all hope that there was still good in the world. But no, because as he looked at all these people, he saw just that—he saw humans, not monsters. Sam found his dad’s conviction that every living thing was evil ludicrous now. He has only seen the bad, the rotten and ugly side of the world, but that was exactly why he had to, needed to believe that there was more to it. There had to be happiness and selflessness out there, something good too. If there was a black, then there has to be a white as well, somewhere, in some humans’ heart, and Sam hoped to one day find a person like that.

While lost in his brooding, deep thoughts, all pensive and not really looking where he was going, he nearly collided with someone in the middle of exiting the lavatory, only managing to step back in the very last second.

“Oh, sorry,” the person he realized was a girl said, flashing him a courteous smile. She was as tall as Sam, however seemed a bit younger, maybe one or two years. The smile reached her pale hazel eyes as they looked at each other, the girl tucking a few strands of her long, golden blonde hair and quickly closing the door behind her.

Sam could feel himself blush for unknown reasons, reflexively returning her smile. “It’s okay, I hope I didn’t scare you,” he said, even though if anyone, it was him who got a bit caught off guard by the girl’s sudden appearance.

She shook her head, her smile widening. “No, of course not,” she said reassuringly, then after a moment of awkward silence, looked past his shoulders. “Well…”

“Ah, right.” Sam swiftly stepped out of the way, not even realizing he was blocking the poor girl from going back to her seat, but then stopped. This was his chance at making a friend, an actual friend that not only seemed kind, but was a girl. Truth be told, he’s been dreaming of this moment for years now, of a situation where he could finally befriend someone—who was around his age and not part of a gang—and even though he’s never spoken to a girl before, aside from Ruby, he decided to give it a try and forced the words out of his mouth. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

How smooth, telling her his real name. Good job, Sam.

The girl halted and turned back to face him, giving him a questioning, curious look, and Sam was sure he had somehow managed to fuck up. But then she was smiling again, thank god, and walked back to him.

“My name’s Claire,” she said, before pointing at a row of seats on the far right. “I came with my mom and dad. You?”

Alright, this was great. A conversation, he could do it, he was a highly functioning human being. “I’m with…” he began, thinking for a split second, then said, “my brother. Yeah, we’re going to visit our family in Paris.”

“That’s so nice. Can you speak the language?” Claire asked, making him feel a bit guilty. Could he even build a friendship with lies? He didn’t think so, but he was damned if he wouldn’t at least give it a try.

“Well, no,” he admitted sheepishly. He really should’ve rehearsed his story before opening his mouth. “They’re just working there; I have never been to France myself. But I want to learn French while I’m there, and hopefully I’ll know more than a few words once I’m back.”

“I’m sure you’ll remember some words, it’s not that hard. I actually know a few,” she stated with a small, proud grin. “I could teach you the important ones. I mean, if you want.”

Sam beamed at her, nodding. “Yes please, I’d love that!”

She laughed. “Okay, well… Um, how about we move away from the toilets first?” she suggested, to what Sam looked around, looking for some empty seats.

When he found a row that was empty and seemed like it would stay that way, he headed toward it, motioning for Claire to follow. Then they spent the next minutes, which soon stretched out into an hour, then two, just talking and laughing whenever he failed at pronouncing a word, which unfortunately happened nearly each time.

“No, now you just sound like a dog trying to talk,” Clair pointed out, snickering when Sam sighed. “Listen, it’s ‘au revoir’. The ‘au’ is pronounced as ‘o’.”

“That’s what I said! Au revoir,” he huffed, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t pronounce those goddamn ‘r’ sounds without sounding like some cat about to throw up a hairball.

She shook her head, clearly suppressing her laugh to save whatever remained of Sam’s dignity. “Let’s try another one, this time a sentence. What do you want to learn?”

“How about…” His voice trailed off, deep in thought, then raised a finger as he came up with something. “I hope that you get eaten by rabid garden gnomes?”

Clair blinked at him, then snorted. “That’s a bit too complicated, even for my genius. How about sticking to something more basic, like ‘Merci beaucoup pour le repas, c’était délicieux’.”

“Right… I hope you didn’t just tell me to go jump off a cliff,” he said suspiciously, grinning when the girl rolled her eyes.

“I said ‘Thank you for the meal, it was delicious’. Thought you might need it if you go out to eat with your family, show them you didn’t leave your manners at home,” she explained, but Sam had already successfully forgot everything she said. Though he didn’t think he’d need that sentence anyway, it being pretty useless with his family dead and all. What a happy thought to have. And Claire must have noticed it, maybe saw the brief look of sorrow that crossed his face, because she was frowning in concern, tilting her head and leaning closer. “Sam? Are you alright?”

He quickly looked back at her and shook those stupid, sad thoughts out of his head, really not needing them right now. “Yeah, sorry. I’m fine,” he assured with a small smile, hurriedly changing the subject. “So what else is there for me to know to survive in Paris?”

They then spent the next hour first continuing with the French lesson, before simply moving on to talk about their lives. Sam was, obviously, mostly silent throughout that conversation, preferring listening to Claire’s stories over his own lies anyway, so when she just nodded understandingly when he said he didn’t really want to talk about his family, he felt relieved. Claire was so nice and funny, too, and they soon became friends, at least Sam would’ve liked to think of themselves as that. Maybe this friendship would only last while they were on the plane; actually, he was sure that it would never survive once they left the flight. It was disappointing and sad, but he tried not to think too hard about it and instead enjoy the girl’s company while he could, their friendship while it lasted.

When none of them had anything left to say, running out of topics for now, Claire suggested they watch a movie on his dad’s laptop, and Sam couldn’t have been happier to accept. He went back to his seat before joining the girl who was looking for the DVD, needing to check up on Dean to make sure he wouldn’t ruin anything, but it seemed that the boy had fallen asleep while listening to music. He looked peaceful, almost harmless like this, Sam finding himself staring at the other’s sleeping face for a bit too long, before shaking his head and quickly going back to Claire. They watched a comedy, the boy grateful for her choice of film and needing those funny moments onscreen that made him laugh like he hadn’t in a while. At one point, they paused it so that Claire could ask her dad to lend them some money to buy some snacks to munch on while watching, Sam getting a bit curious and following her to where her family sat.

They were so nice, just like he pictured any normal family, their kindness overwhelming him a bit, and he was ashamed to admit, but it also made him jealous of Claire and her life. James and Amelia Novak were the kind of parents he’s been dreaming of on especially lonely nights, and it wasn’t fair that he never got to have a normal family while others did.

He didn’t let any of his selfish feelings show, though, quickly forgetting about them as he shook hands with Claire’s dad, engaged in a short conversation with her mom, then went back with his new friend to their seats and continued watching the movie, while snacking on some packaged, rather plain tasting popcorn. Like that, with them eating and drinking, making fun of some of the stupid scenes while laughing at the genuinely funny ones, another hour was fast to fly by, and by the time the movie ended, Sam noticed that only two hours remained of the flight. Time moved faster when he had good company, he realized, and while he wouldn’t have minded watching another cheesy movie with Claire, she only had that one. They talked for a bit after that, Sam regretting not asking for a cell phone from Nick when the girl inquired if he wanted to exchange phone numbers. It was a bummer, seeing her dejected face only making him feel worse, but then she was shrugging and actually thanking Sam for the few hours of entertainment, telling him how nice spending time with him was, which just made him curse his past self even more.

Damn it, the first thing he’d do once he got back “home” will be to demand to have a phone of his own. Politely, and hopefully without getting instantly rejected.

Sam got back to his seat after they were done with the awkward goodbyes, finding Dean still sound asleep next to him. He wondered of the iPod was still on, playing music even while the boy slept, then after a long moment of hesitating, he carefully draped the blanket over his sleeping form. Sam didn’t need it anymore, and it was in the way now, just taking up space in his chair. It was just an act of kindness, he was simply getting rid of the blanket, not looking out for the other. And if he felt a bit satisfied as he sat back and looked at Dean, it was only because Sam was a good person.

Right.

He spent the next two hours huddled up in his seat, only getting up once to visit the lavatory and making sure not to use the one where he and Dean…yeah. In the last remaining minutes before it was time the plane landed—it being announced over the loudspeaker and waking most of the passengers up—he gave the boy a none-too-gentle nudge with his elbow to get him out of his temporary coma, only sneaking one quick glance at him as he opened his eye and rubbed his face tiredly, before looking away from the other and suddenly feeling rather nervous for some reason.

The landing wasn’t as intimidating as when they took off. It was smooth, the only signs that they were actually nearing the ground being the view through the windows and the fact they needed to put their seatbelts back on. Once the airplane has stopped moving completely, everyone got out of their seats, the sudden swarm of people forcing Sam back in his and wait until at least those from his row were gone. When it didn’t seem like he was going to get trampled over by a rabid tourist, he picked up the backpack into which he has already stuffed the blanket back, and slung it over his shoulder, before walking out of the plane without waiting for Dean.

Outside, it was completely dark, and way colder than he would’ve expected. A sudden chill ran down his spine and spread through his entire body, making him shudder. He looked around, now searching for the boy because he wasn’t quite sure what to do now, feeling kind of lost and not liking it one bit, but aside from the giant airplane behind him and the groups of passengers spilling out of it, before making a beeline for the airport building, he couldn’t spot anyone with an eyepatch. A bit frustrated but keeping calm and standing still, telling himself that it wasn’t like the plane ate the boy, Sam waited for his, so to say, partner in crime, feeling a tiny bit relieved when he finally saw Dean emerging from the door and walking over to join him.

As he waited for him to come over, though, Sam also noticed someone else. Claire and her family were just exiting the plane as well, also beginning to head in the building’s direction, and when the girl looked his way and gave him a cheery smile, Sam couldn’t stop his own from forming and spreading across his face.

“Who is that?” Dean’s sudden question made him look away from the girl, the harsh and somewhat demanding tone in his voice ruining Sam’s smile. The boy was scowling as if bewildered, glancing from the other to the girl, who was now giving him a polite wave which Dean completely ignored.

Sighing, he shook his head dismissingly. “A friend I made while you were sleeping,” he said, giving the boy an annoyed look. Dean has been giving him the cold shoulder for hours, shutting him out because Sam didn’t go along with his game, and the first thing he does after finally deciding to grace him with his oh so precious attention, is be rude.

Dean’s frown deepened, and Claire must have noticed that something was off, because now she was looking concerned as began walking towards them. Knowing that couldn’t possibly end well, Sam was about to tell her that everything was fine, lie to her again in order to protect the poor girl, but he didn’t have to. She didn’t take more than five steps before Dean was glaring at her, the sort of glare that Sam has only seen before once, when he first met the boy, the amount of rage in his eye freezing Claire where she stood.

Wondering what the hell got into him all of a sudden, but really not wanting to find out and risk getting his only friend hurt, or worse, Sam quickly grabbed a hold of the sleeve of the other’s jacket and began tugging him away from any nearby humans, while flashing an apologetic smile at Claire. “Sorry, he’s a bit grumpy from lack of sleep,” he shouted over the sound of the airplane engines as he backed away, then flinched when Dean yanked his arm out of Sam’s hold. “Dean—” he began, but instead of the boy storming off like he thought he would, he just seized the younger one’s biceps and began dragging him toward the building, Sam wincing and unable to finish his sentence as the hand on his arm tightened until it was seriously hurting him.

Dean strode into the airport building with long and fast steps, Sam barely able to keep up and would have probably tripped already if not for the other’s iron grip on his aching arm. “Dean, stop it! You’re hurting me, what the hell, Dean!” he hissed, trying to break free from the boy’s hand, but all he achieved with his struggling was to feel Dean’s fingers sink further into his flesh, drawing a pained whimper from him.

When they reached the baggage carousel, Dean finally let go of him with a hard shove, Sam swearing he heard the boy growl. “You don’t fucking get to do this, Sam,” he snarled as he shot him a fierce look, his hands clenched into fists from what the younger boy could only guess was fury.

“Get to do what?” he asked incredulously, throwing his hands in the air. “Make friends? Or what, Dean? What did I do this time that didn’t suit your fancy, huh?” Sam glared at the boy, knowing that people were already watching and giving them strange looks, but Dean’s abnormal behavior was really starting to get on his nerves.

“You little…” Dean’s voice was alarmingly deep and dripping with pent-up rage, Sam’s own anger subsiding a bit from the look in the boy’s eye. It honestly seemed like he might hit him, right in front of everybody, and that realization sent fear gushing through him, creating a confusing cocktail of irritation and terror that made him grit his teeth and take a step back at the same time.

“What, Dean?” he asked, swallowing thickly as he kept his eyes on the boy. “Say it.”

Visibly clenching his jaw, his lips twitching as he tried suppressing a snarl, Dean stared at him for a long moment, the black fire in his eye intensifying before, suddenly, going out completely. He shook his head, running his hands through his hair while letting out a sigh, then mumbled, “Whatever, I don’t… Just whatever.”

He watched, a bit perplexed, as Dean’s shoulders slouched. So many unexpected things were happening today, and that defeated look on the boy’s face was one of the biggest surprises yet. It was gone just as quickly as it came, though, replaced by nothing. Dean’s face became expressionless, his eye cold, as he turned away from Sam and walked over to the baggage carousel, and picked up their suitcases when they appeared on the belt.

He put Sam’s in front of his feet. “Come on, let’s get a taxi,” he said, and just like that, everything was back to normal. At least, that’s what it seemed like. Dean was acting as if nothing happened, as if he didn’t look like someone ready to commit genocide a few minutes ago. It made Sam wonder if the boy had multiple personalities or something, watching him warily as he followed him outside. This normal Dean was still better than the angry one, though, so he decided to just go with the flow for now, and leave the questions and his confusions for later.

They found a taxi pretty soon, Dean telling the driver the address of the motel they were supposed to stay in for the time being. The ride there was eerily silent, Sam finding himself missing the boy’s stupid remarks, and then spending the rest of the drive convincing himself that, no, that was not the case at all, he was just bored.

The motel was just like how Sam expected. He has seen so many of the things that he wasn’t even surprised when he saw the moldy spots covering one of the walls. Of course they would get a crappy motel. Comfort and nice surroundings? Nah, let’s sleep in a shithole, just like the good old days.

It had two single beds, a bathroom at the end of the room, and something that looked like a mini kitchen, but was really just a small fridge with a sink next to it. Sam sighed silently as he quickly scanned the room, before stepping inside and placing his luggage on the bed furthest from the door. Turning around, he watched as Dean closed the door and tossed his suitcase on the floor next to his bed, before looking at Sam and nodding to the backpack on the bed.

“Take out the drugs,” he said as he moved back to the door. “The guy we need to drop it off to is in a room not far from ours.”

Sam opened the bag and pulled out the plastic bag full of candies, then wandered over to Dean, hesitating a moment before handing them over.

Noticing that something was off, he raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Sam wasn’t so sure about what was wrong either, but he realized that he really wasn’t liking this Dean. He seemed too tense, distant, and just…cold. And it was really annoying.

He looked up at him, frowning and hoping he appeared more annoyed than desperate. “What’s your problem?”

Dean blinked down at him, furrowing his brow as he stared at the other for a second. He then put the bag on the table next to the door, and glared at Sam. “What’s my problem? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“See? This is what I’m talking about!” he snapped, making frustrated movements with his hands. “You’re acting all weird, but you never tell me what’s wrong.”

Dean threw his head back and laughed bitterly, then Sam flinched when he slammed a fist into the door. “You’re just a blind little kid, maybe that’s why! Do I honestly have to spell everything out for you?”

“Yes!” he yelled. “Yes, pretend I’m fucking five or something, but just tell me what’s going on already!”

“It’s you, you complete retard!” Dean snapped back, suddenly backing Sam into a wall, slamming his hands on either side of the younger boy’s head and leaning in to snarl in his face. “It’s always you, isn’t it?”

Sam snorted, kind of losing it at this point. “Me? What the hell? What have I done to piss you off so goddamn much, Dean?”

“Holy shit, you’re seriously asking me that?” Dean laughed out loud, humorless and unbelieving, before shocking Sam by backhanding him.

His eyes widened and he pressed a hand against his stinging cheek, gaping up at Dean. “Wha—”

“This is the last fucking time I’m going to tell you this, Sam,” the boy growled deep in his throat, before letting out a literal growl, feral and deep, and Sam was listening, too shocked and horrified to do anything else really. “You’re a liar, Sam Winchester. A fucking, dirty little liar. And a little bitch, going around and doing shit that you know will piss me off. For fuck’s sake, how hard is it to understand? You. Are. Mine.” Dean glared at him, moving a hand to his throat, the other’s breath hitching when he wrapped strong and persistent fingers around the flesh. “You don’t get to talk to others. You don’t get to look at others. And you don’t get to go and befriend a little whore right after lying to my face! I was okay with it for a while, with this stubborn, foolish and simply childish behavior of yours. Being in denial, telling yourself you don’t like it when I touch you; that was fine, for a while. It was actually fun. But going as far as to…as to have the nerve to tell me it was the heroin that had you moaning, that it wasn’t because of me, because you liked it… And then you run off to some girl!”

Tears were welling up in Sam’s eyes now, from both panic and the pain of the boy’s fingers around his throat, it already starting to become harder for him to breathe. “Dean—”

“Did you kiss her?” the furious boy cut him off, his grip tightening even more, even as Sam began clawing and scratching at the hand strangling him. “Huh, Sammy? Are you into girls now, that desperate to prove me wrong? Or did you fuck her? Take her into the same room I sucked you off, and gave it to her all good and hard?”

“N-No…” he choked, then screwed his eyes shut with a soft whimper when Dean leaned in and freaking bit him. He bit Sam’s hands that were hopelessly clawing at the one keeping him in place, sinking his teeth in so hard that the frightened boy quickly moved them away, letting them fall back to his sides, trembling slightly as he closed them into tight fists.

“No? Then what did you do, hmm?” Dean hissed close to his ear, but Sam’s vision was getting blurry from the lack of air, beginning to see dark spots and this was too much. He let out a small, wretched sob, not in a situation where he cared if he looked pathetic, robbed of his manliness. What manliness, anyway? He was nothing, his dignity and John’s trainings, everything disappearing under this boy’s hand.

Dean was going to kill him. This time, he was sure of it, because the hand wasn’t moving, not even when Sam began feeling himself slowly slipping away, losing consciousness. But then, in what must have been the very last moment, Dean finally let go, and he immediately fell to the floor, sliding down the wall and landing on his ass. He coughed and wheezed, taking deep breaths before coughing some more, then was sniffing and trying to keep those stupid tears in when the boy kneeled down in front of him.

“I’m not done,” he stated, and Sam’s heart sank. “Tell me what you did with her. Now.”

His mouth wasn’t working, he tried saying something but then his voice failed him, coming out as some sort of hoarse, unintelligible croak. He cleared his throat, coughed a bit more, then tried again while fighting to keep eye contact with Dean. “N-Nothing, I swear. We talked…and she taught be some French words. Then w-we watched a movie, but that’s it. That’s it…”

He watched Dean watching him, swallowing around the lump in his throat when the boy narrowed his eye. “You’re not lying to me again, are you? This wouldn’t be the first time, even though I’ve already told you just how much I hate being lied to.”

Sam quickly shook his head. “No, no Dean. I’m not lying, I swear to god, please,” he mumbled franticly, rubbing his teary eyes with the heel of his hands, and then biting down his bottom lip when the boy crawled closer, spreading Sam’s legs and positioning himself between them as he glowered at him.

“Beg some more, I like that,” he growled, a crooked and depraved grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Maybe if you beg nicely, I’ll forgive you.”

Sniffing, Sam dug his nails in his palms and pressed his back further into the wall, feeling like a cornered prey. “I… Please, Dean. I’m begging you, please believe me. I swear nothing happened, she’s…she was just a friend, and I’m never going to see her ever again anyway, so please, I’m not lying, I swear,” he pleaded with a small voice.

Dean studied his face for a moment, then his eye moved down, roaming Sam’s rigid—only shaken lightly with the occasional trembles—body before moving back to his eyes, the boy’s single one softening. “Alright, I believe you…for now. What else?”

Furrowing his brow ever so slightly, Sam blinked at him. “What else…?”

“You’re not high anymore. There’s no heroin making you talk,” Dean said, fixing him with an intense stare. “So I want you to repeat what you said then. I want you to say it now, like this.”

It was weird. It sounded like Dean was the one begging now, and while all of this was kind of scaring Sam right now, plus he really didn’t want to say what the boy was thinking of, he couldn’t help…feeling sorry for him, in a way. Why? He had no idea. Was he screwed up in the head? Probably. Did this situation thrill him a bit?

Maybe.

“I’m…” Sam’s voice trailed off. He licked his dry lips, shivering when he saw the boy do the same at that, then averted his eyes and forced the words out of his mouth, despite how much they heated his face, and other parts of his body. “I’m yours. I…belong to you.”

“Yes, you do,” Dean purred, leaning in to place a tender kiss on Sam’s cheek which he had previously slapped, before pulling back and getting to his feet. “I’m hungry. Wanna get some take-out?”

Sam gaped at nothing in particular for a moment, still pretty out of it, before taking a quick glance at the clock on the wall. “It’s, uh, two in the morning.”

“And? There must be a place that delivers pizza at this hour. If not, I will be disappointed in France,” he said jokingly, back to his usual self, but right now, Sam wasn’t sure if he was glad or just utterly confused. Probably the latter.

He shook his head, slowly standing up from the floor. “I’m not hungry. Ate on the plane,” he told the boy, scratching the back of his neck as he looked at him.

Dean faked a pout, then shrugged. “Fine. I’ll just go and visit some French bars, check out their beer,” he stated, and then added, “Hey, did you by any chance learn the French word for beer?”

Sam wondered if he should stay silent, but then nodded instead. “It’s ‘bière’,” he said with a small, and maybe kinda proud, smile.

“Bière…” Dean repeated with a horrible accent, Sam needing to bite down his laugh. “Okay, got it,” he said, smirking at him as he nodded to one of the beds. “I don’t think I’ll be back anytime soon, so get some sleep, okay?”

“Yeah,” he said without really agreeing, watching in a bit of a daze as Dean picked up the bag of candy, giving Sam a quick wink and a wave before walking out the door, locking it once outside.

So…what now?

He slowly raised a hand to his cheek. It didn’t hurt anymore, but he remembered the pain. He remembered the ache in his skin and chest that Dean’s outburst of violence made him feel; but while it hurt, while it was scary, while Sam should’ve been feeling angry with the boy, he realized he might have kind of…deserved it. He didn’t want to get slapped, to get shouted at, that’s not what he deserved, no. But he was lying. All the time; he has been for such a long time now, so the boy’s reaction was understandable. Plus Sam really wasn’t allowed to forget who he was dealing with here. Dean wasn’t just a _boy_ , an everyday kid that knew how to keep his rage under control. No, Dean seemed to not only have anger issues, but he was also a criminal, used to resorting to violence and aggression when others would just raise their voice. That, of course, did not mean that this was okay. Strangling and hitting him was most definitely not okay, and he realized this was actually the first time that Dean had slapped him. Sure, he has tried choking him many times before, but he has never really hurt Sam. Not until now. Which meant that what he did seriously pissed the boy off, and it was as if…

As if Dean had a fit of jealous rage.

No, no way. Sam was blushing like mad, backing into a bed and needing to sit down.

But that was it, wasn’t it? Dean has told him over and over, how he owned Sam, so for him to get so mad as to hit him, it had to be jealousy. He had to put himself in the boy’s shoes, try to think like him. How would he feel if someone he saw as his lied to him, then left him to spend time with a stranger, a girl who even managed to make him laugh. Okay, yeah, that might have made Sam jealous too. But wouldn’t that mean that Dean liked him? At least a little bit?

No, people don’t necessarily have to feel that way, in order to get jealous. Like when Sam was jealous of Claire’s family—that wasn’t because he loved any of them, only because he wished he could have parents. Which meant Dean wanted him for himself. Okay, that was fine, Sam could work with that, could accept that. It’s not like he had another choice, right? He already admitted it, and the words didn’t repulse him. Instead of that, it made him feel like he belonged. In a way. Not to Dean, no. If he were to admit to that, it would mean that he’d be willingly giving everything to Dean, that he’d even let the boy do…

Oh God, why was life so complicated?!

He groaned in frustration, falling back on the bed. He needed to clear his mind for a bit, think about something else aside from Dean. Staring at the dirty ceiling for a long moment, Sam took in a deep breath, then felt the sting of tears in his eyes. Caught off guard by them, he quickly rubbed his eyes, fighting the memories. Now that he wasn’t busy thinking about the boy, they came back haunting and surprising him, though it really shouldn’t have been that shocking. He was in a motel, after all. He spent many years of his life in motels, going from one to another with his dad. The tears could have only been that of sadness, but honestly, he wasn’t sure which one. Was he sad because he missed that life? No, he hated it. Then were those horrible memories making him want to cry, turning him back into his younger self and making him want to curl up in the bed like when each time John was out late, making Sam think he’s been killed? Or was it because his dad was, indeed, dead, and he’d never get to see him ever again, no matter how bad of a parent he was? Because yeah, John Winchester would never win the father of the year award, but he was still his dad, and no matter how many times Sam wished the man would just leave, he still loved him. And now, lying in the bed of a crappy motel room, Sam found himself missing the old man, which only made him want to cry even more.

Damn, he was such a kid.

Since there was no one else here, Sam completely alone in the room, he decided to just let it all out. He let the tears flow free, wetting his cheek and giving him a dull headache, the weak sobs shaking his body as he turned onto his stomach and buried his face in the blanket. He curled his fingers into the fabric and kept gripping them with shaking hands until it was over, until he had cried his eyes out and took in a shaky breath, feeling a bit better. He wasn’t a small child anymore, but he was suddenly feeling lonely. Breaking down and crying helped, because at least now that black, thick sorrow that had latched itself onto his heart was gone, but it left a sort of emptiness behind. Something hollow, something that made him want to sleep and stay in bed forever, even though he wasn’t that tired.

He tried rubbing his eyes, then climbed off the bed and shuffled to the bathroom, splashing some cold water on his face to feel a bit more alive and less like an extra from the Walking Dead. That also helped as much as cold water could help, but he was still feeling a bit down, and now he was starting to get bored, too. Great, just what he needed. He sighed and opened his suitcase, thankful he didn’t forget to pack his pajamas and toothbrush, and then went back to the bathroom to take a nice, long shower. The water pressure was obviously crap, and he had to wait for an ungodly amount of time for the warm water, but when it finally decided to appear, Sam used it to wash away all the sweat and the things twelve hours in an airplane did to his body. He also washed his hair, then was quickly regretting his decision and making some shrieking sounds when the hot water ceased to exist and he got a nice gush of ice cold one, successfully waking him up completely.

When that nightmare was over, Sam slithered into his bed and under the blanket, creating a warm and soft cocoon for himself, before grabbing the TV remote and turning the television on. He only just realized that he hasn’t watched telly ever since he’s been kidnapped, even though they had a nice flat screen one in the warehouse. Maybe once he’d get back, he would give it a try, break away from the repetitive pattern of being holed up in his room 24/7.

There was nothing worth watching on this television, just as he thought. After going through every single channel this device offered, Sam concluded that this motel was truly a big pile of hippo poop, but since he didn’t really have any other forms of entertainment at hand right now, he had to content himself with watching the reruns of some procedural cop show. At one point, he wondered if he should pick the lock and try taking a walk outside, but knowing his luck, he would have just gotten lost, and he really doubted that he could have survived with the few words Claire had taught him.

That got him thinking about the girl, hoping that she didn’t get too traumatized by Dean’s attack dog kind of attitude. She certainly seemed taken aback, maybe even frightened by the boy, Sam remembering the puzzlement on her face when he dragged Dean away. Now he had to wonder if he would have actually hurt her. That boy was pretty unpredictable, as he had come to learn, so who knew? Maybe if Sam wouldn’t have stepped in, Dean would have taken out his rage on Claire, which just made him incredibly glad that he chose to shift the boy’s attention to him instead of the innocent girl, even though it resulted with him getting hurt. But hey, better him than someone who didn’t even do anything wrong, unless being sweet and kind was now considered as rude and a horrible crime.

Anyway that was that, and now, lying in the bed and being swaddled by the blanket like some baby, Sam was starting to feel a bit sleepy. He wasn’t out for too long after he…sort of fainted in the plane’s restroom, so as he lay there, enveloped by warmth and watching a boring TV show, he found his eyes getting heavy. Not feeling the need to keep himself awake for no reason, Sam lowered the volume and decided to keep watching the TV until he fell asleep, since just as Dean said, there was no use waiting for him.

And as he let his eyes close, his body slowly sinking into the mattress while the voices from the television turned into a muffled blur, his last thoughts were of Dean, and of what he could be doing right now, while Sam was all alone.

 


	11. The Way To Your Heart

 

No nightmares this time, or any dreams whatsoever, to which Sam was really glad when he woke up. Though really, even if he would have had a dream, even if his mind would have been filled with the strangest of images, of haunting and simply absurd scenarios while he slept, he couldn’t have possibly known, as he usually forgot everything a few moments after he regained consciousness.

He rubbed his cheek on the pillow, frowning as he sniffed the air curiously. Instead of the slightly musty smell of the motel room, it was filled with the pleasant scent of some kind of flower maybe, or soap. Yawning, he shifted in the bed, turning on his back as he slowly cracked his eyes open and gazed around the room.

The bathroom door—which was right next to his bed, to the right—was fully open, the nice scent, which Sam now identified as body wash, coming from in there and spreading into the rest of the motel room. He then turned his head, still a bit out of it, so he needed a second to process what he saw next.

Dean was standing by the foot end of the other bed with his back to Sam, wearing nothing but a pair of gray underwear, in the middle of tugging on his jeans. There was a towel tossed carelessly on the bed, the boy picking it up once he was done buttoning his dark blue jeans and using it to ruffle his short, wet hair. His whole upper body was naked, revealing the gorgeous skin that was usually hidden by fabric, Dean’s toned upper back and strong shoulders, and Sam found himself staring with his mouth open when those muscles tensed and relaxed deliciously as the boy dried his hair.

The other must have felt his eyes on him, because he let the white towel fall over his shoulders and turned around, his eyes slightly widening when saw the younger boy watching. Eyes, in plural, because Dean’s eyepatch was gone, and Sam couldn’t help but gasp as he saw the boy’s other eye for the first time. He had a horrible scar running down from the beginning of his eyebrow, all the way down to his cheekbone, going across his eye. Sam has seen the end of that scar many times before, the eyepatch not big enough to cover the long wound, but he has never expected for it to look so painful. And while he only saw Dean’s face for a split second, the other immediately catching on and spinning around to grab his eyepatch from the counter, before putting it back around his head, he still managed to catch a glimpse of the boy’s eye.

Dean was half blind.

That had to be it. He knew how most blind people looked, even though everyone was different. He knew that with a wound like that, there was no way Dean still had his sight in that eye, especially since the orb that was supposed to be a mesmerizing moss green, was instead only a long forgotten memory of one, having a cloudy gray color. As if a white haze has descended on that eye, it was merely a pool of bright gray smoke, swallowing up even the black pupil and rendering it invisible.

Sam blinked a bit dazedly, watching as the boy quickly put on his shirt after discarding the towel somewhere, before turning around with the eyepatch back over his eye and flashing him a suave smirk.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he said as he walked over to his own bed and sat down on its side, facing Sam and leaning on his knees with his elbows. “Sleep well?”

The boy apparently deciding to ignore what just happened, Sam didn’t want to be too nosy and ask about his eye now, even though he was damn curious. Still, the look on Dean’s face when he noticed that he was watching him made it pretty clear that it was a sensitive subject for the boy, so he supposed finding out more about it would just have to wait. It wasn’t really Sam’s place to go asking about things like that, anyway.

“Fine, yeah,” he replied, slowly sitting up in the bed and leaning against the headboard. He glanced at the clock on the wall, then squinted at it for a moment before looking back at Dean, raising his eyebrows. “How long are we supposed to stay here exactly…?”

Dean followed his example and looked back over his shoulder, a smile present on his lips when he moved his gaze back to Sam. “Until tomorrow. And since it’s only eleven in the morning, that means we’ve got the whole day ahead of us,” he announced, his smile growing at the younger boy’s visible unease. “So what do you wanna do today, Sammy?”

He had given up on telling Dean to stop calling him that, so he just shrugged, not really in the mood for anything as he was still feeling rather down. “I think I’ll just stay here.”

“What, all day?” the boy asked with a laugh, leaning a bit forward on his elbows. “Come on, there are so many ways we could spend today. First time we’re alone like this together, you know? Imagine the possibilities.”

Sam groaned, rolling his eyes. “Right, whatever you say. Just don’t get too lost in fantasy land,” he scoffed, flashing the other a brief grin when the boy pretended to sulk.

“Are you seriously considering staying in bed all day?” Dean asked, and he answered with lying down with his back to the other. Sam heard him sigh, then felt the mattress dip as the boy sat on his bed, walking two fingers up his arm before poking his head. “Two can play that game,” he said, before lying down next to Sam, who immediately tensed and, before Dean could’ve wrapped his arms around him and, god forbid, cuddled with him, swiftly performed something that resembled a barrel roll, ending up on the floor with a squeak as he rolled out of the bed.

Dean propped his head up on one elbow, watching in amusement as Sam tried to free himself of the blanket that had latched itself onto his body and followed him to the floor, then began laughing at his misery when he somehow managed to just get even more tangled up in that evil material.

“Stop laughing and help me!” he whined as he kicked hopelessly at the blanket, feeling utterly frustrated and embarrassed. He was supposed to slip out of the bed and be the one laughing at Dean, not become the subject of laughter himself while wriggling on the floor like some mentally challenged caterpillar, for fuck’s sake.

“Nah, that’s karma for you,” Dean said between bursts of laughter, and when Sam shot him a fierce glare, that just made the boy laugh even harder.

Sam muttered a low row of curses, all of them meant for that jerk having the time of his life on the bed while he was suffering on the floor, and when he finally managed to escape from the stubborn grasp of the blanket, the very first thing he did after scurrying to his feet was to throw it right in the boy’s face. He relished in the silence that followed, then gulped when Dean yanked the blanked off his head and glared at him.

“Alright, okay,” he growled, crawling off the bed like some stealthy lion, before moving to close in on Sam.

He backed away as far as he could, keeping his eyes on the boy as he patted around for something he could defend himself with, then felt a glimmer of hope when his fingers wrapped around something. Without wasting a second, he took a hold of it and held it between them as Dean stood right in front of him, the initial confidence and relief that filled him gone in an instant as he realized just what exactly he was trying to use as a weapon.

The boy glanced at the white remote in Sam’s hand, then raised his gaze to him. “Are you going to…air condition me to death now, Sammy?” he asked as he tried to keep a relatively straight face, the younger one’s face heating up as he noticed how holding back the grin that desperately wanted to spread across his face was causing Dean visible effort, the smug bastard.

“Shut up, I just might!” Sam exclaimed in vexation, tightening his hold on the stupid remote before simply flinging it at the boy’s head.

It hit Dean in the forehead, bouncing off his skull before reaching its final resting place on the floor. “Ow,” he grumbled, abruptly closing whatever distance was left between them and trapping Sam between the counter behind his back and the warm body pressed against him. Dean placed his hands on the counter behind Sam and leaned forward, scowling at him. “Kiss it better.”

“What?” Sam blurted, blinking at the boy in confusion, because no way he just heard Dean of all people ask him to do something like that.

But no, the boy was serious. “I said, kiss it better for me. Or…well, you can make it up to me in another way too, if you want,” he purred, using his teeth to play with his bottom lip as he watched Sam with an intent, bewitching eye.

He took in an uneven breath, shaking his head and pressing his lips together in hesitation. “Yeah uh, no thanks,” he mumbled, before getting on his tiptoes and craning his neck, gripping Dean’s shirt to pull him down and place a quick kiss on his forehead. He then pushed the boy away, scooting the hell away from him while screaming inwardly at his face to stop feeling like it had been dipped in boiling lava.

Shuffling back to his bed, he ignored Dean’s chuckle and flopped down into the mattress, burying his face in the pillow. Stupid Dean, always doing this to him. It wasn’t good for his heart, as the speed it was beating in his chest couldn’t possibly be called healthy, but what was he supposed to do? This wasn’t good, Sam was changing, and this really was not good.

“Hey, wanna get some brunch?” he heard the boy ask, but he didn’t move or answer, only shook his head and kept it buried in the safety of the pillow.

There was a long pause after that, a moment of silence stretching out seemingly forever, making Sam wonder if the boy managed to just disappear somehow, but then he heard his voice again, it sounding strangely as if it hid a sliver of worry underneath a layer of curiosity. “Are you okay, Sam?”

The question caught him by surprise, and he looked up from the soft pillow. Dean was sitting on the other bed again, wearing an expression Sam just couldn’t place anywhere and watching him attentively. And the strangest thing was that Sam wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if he was okay, and it surprised him that the boy had managed to pick up on the change in his mood.

He released a tiny sigh and averted his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, but then frowned and corrected himself. No more lies. “No. I don’t know, actually.”

“What’s wrong? You seem…down. Am I too much?” Dean asked jokingly with a small laugh, but Sam could hear some genuine concern in his tone, which made him sit up right away, for whatever reason.

“No, it’s got nothing to do with you. Not this time…” he said, briefly glancing at Dean before looking around the room. “I guess it’s just this place. I didn’t think it would, but it got to me. Kinda makes me wanna do nothing but lie in bed forever, which I know is pathetic, I do, but…”

Dean frowned deeply, studying the motel room before asking, “What’s with this place? I don’t think it’s so bad it would make someone this depressed,” he mentioned.

“I’m not depressed,” Sam stated, but maybe he was. He was fine while he was preoccupied with Dean, while they fooled around in the room or whatever it was they did, but yeah, it really did seem that the memories were making him go through a downward spiral.

Wow, he really was miserable, wasn’t he?

“Okay,” Dean said suddenly, getting up and walking to Sam’s suitcase. He crouched down and pulled out a few things, which he placed on the bed, before heading for the door and picking up his leather jacket from where it was hanging from a chair. Opening the door, he looked back over his shoulder and smirked at the slightly puzzled boy. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

And then he was out the door, vanishing behind it.

Sam stared at the door for a bit, then looked at the clothes Dean had picked out for him. Well, this was odd, but he certainly wasn’t going to say no, since he really wasn’t enjoying being in this annoying mood. He wasn’t a masochist, gladly leaving this motel behind if it meant getting rid of this sudden melancholy that came over him, so he only hesitated a few seconds before climbing out of bed and changing into the fresh clothes.

After a thorough visit to the bathroom and making sure to get rid of the bed hair, Sam was putting on his shoes and then opening the door. He immediately spotted Dean as he stepped outside, the boy leaning against the wall not far from the door. Sam watched as he pushed himself away from the wall and walked over to him, quickly locking the door before pocketing the room key and giving the other a once-over.

“Lookin’ good,” he said with a grin. “My compliments to whoever picked your outfit.”

Sam gave the boy his best bitchface, then crossed his arms in front of his chest and sighed, looking around the motel parking lot. Now what? They were out of the room, but now Sam was wondering just what exactly it was that he had agreed to so hastily. Maybe he made a mistake. Who knew what Dean had in mind for them?

“I don’t think this’ll work,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow at the boy. “You don’t even know France. And if you get us lost, I’ll beat you up.”

Dean huffed. “Hey, I’m trying to cheer you up here, you could be a bit more tolerant.”

“Cheer me up…?” Sam asked suspiciously, to what the boy smiled.

“Yeah, idiot. Why, you think I’m not capable of doing such a thing?”

“Well,” he said, watching the other with careful eyes, “I have my doubts.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair and ruffled it, sighing weakly. “I’m not a complete monster, you know,” he said, then took a step toward Sam and gave him a serious look. “I wanna take you on a date.”

Sam just stared at the boy for a while, a frown gradually wrinkling his forehead, and then he was blushing, god damn it, why was his body always betraying him?

“You… Are you serious?” he asked, not actually sure which he wanted more—for Dean to just laugh and say he was only joking, or for him to be honestly considering taking him out on a date. A freaking date.

A genuine, gentle smile crossed the boy’s face, and Sam’s heart did _not_ skip a beat. “Yeah, I’m serious,” he answered with a light chuckle, his smile wavering and if Sam wouldn’t have known better, he would’ve said that the boy looked somewhat nervous. “So, what do you say? Do you wanna elope with me for a day, to Paris?” Dean asked, grinning rather tensely.

He let out an incredulous laugh, about to shake his head and say no, but stopped himself. He wanted to refuse, of course he did. Going on an honest-to-god date with someone like Dean, come on. But at the same time, he kind of didn’t. Sam wanted to see Paris, however that wasn’t the only reason that made it so hard to say no. There was something else, something nagging and prodding at him from the very back of his mind, and so instead of turning the boy down, like he surely would have some days ago, he found himself chewing on his lower lip and becoming all fidgety as he nodded.

“Um…sure,” Sam muttered, biting down on his lip to stop a _smile_ when he saw the amount of sheer relief and happiness on Dean’s face as the boy flashed him a wide grin.

“Yeah? Okay, great. Awesome,” Dean said with that stupid grin plastered across his face, fishing out his phone from his pants pocket before glancing at Sam with an eager eye. “I met some people who speak English yesterday. Well, no, that was this morning. We had some drinks and they told me about a few cool places here in Paris we could visit,” he explained, then handed over his phone to the younger boy. “Here’s a list of them. Choose as many as you want.”

He took the offered phone, scanning the names of so many famous places that Dean had noted down, and pursed his lips as he thought. The Eiffel Tower was obviously a given, Sam immediately deciding to visit that one first, but that still left tons of others to be discovered. Places such as the Louvre, Notre Dame de Paris, Panthéon, Disneyland and many others were littering the digital notepad of the phone, and he just couldn’t make up his mind, honestly wishing he could visit all of them. But that, obviously, was impossible, so after a long minute of staring at the phone’s screen, he settled with only three of them.

“Can we start with the Eiffel Tower?” he asked as he gave Dean his phone back. “And then visit the Canal Saint-Martin? And maybe, if we have time, we could also check out the catacombs…”

“The catacombs?” Dean raised his eyebrows at him, before nodding his head in amazed agreement. “Sure thing, sounds like fun,” he said with a small chuckle, then looked at his phone and began typing something. “Now let’s call a taxi and go look at that famous tower.”

Sam tugged and played with the hem of his dark brown leather jacket absentmindedly, gazing out into the parking lot and watching the traffic while Dean talked to someone over to phone, getting them a car. He couldn’t believe he was finally going to see the Eiffel Tower. So many people have been dreaming of that moment, along with Sam, even though he wasn’t that fanatic about it. There were so many other places he wanted to visit, but still, Paris was in his top five list, so now that he was finally here and presented with the opportunity to discover a part of it, he could barely believe that this wasn’t just a dream. And while he has imagined this moment several times before, he never thought it would be quite like this.

As in Sam never imagined he would get to see Paris while on a date, with another boy.

However just before he could’ve started wondering why this situation wasn’t bothering him as much as it was supposed to, he heard Dean’s smiling voice from next to him. “Alright, taxi should be here in an hour,” the boy told him, sliding his phone in his pocket, before leaning his forearm against the wall and smirking down at the other like some roguish fox. “What do you wanna do to pass the time?”

Pretty certain that Dean’s own ideas to “pass time” did not involve playing Monopoly or anything so innocent, Sam made sure to take a cautious step back from the boy leering at him before answering. “Watch TV?” he suggested with a shrug, but then discarded that idea. He didn’t want to go back in there just yet. “Or how about…I don’t know, walking around the motel?”

The boy hummed in thought, pretending to consider it, then shook his head and slowly pushed himself away from the wall, closing the distance that Sam’s previous step created between them. “Good, but I got better,” he purred invitingly, but when the younger boy just gave him an uninterested look, Dean fake-pouted and put his hands on his hips with a huff. “Fine. How about we sit down on that bench while we wait, then? I think I saw a vending machine with some drinks in it somewhere around here.”

He pointed toward the end of the motel, where there was a short dirt path leading to a smaller grassy area with two wooden benches on it, the sort that came with a table between two seats. Feeling kind of thirsty, Sam agreed with a nod and started off toward the benches, while shouting over his shoulder, “Get me something fruity!”

“As you wish, your majesty,” he heard the taunting answer, only rolling his eyes and not giving Dean the satisfaction of seeing him react too obviously.

It was a bit annoying how the boy did everything for him since Sam had zero money on him, or in general. Actually, he had literally nothing that could help him survive if he would have been alone. No phone, no money, not even an ID to prove his identity; nothing. It filled him with a helpless, oddly vulnerably feeling, the fact that he was completely dependent on Dean both annoying and reassuring him a bit. It made him believe he was protected, that he had someone who he could rely on no matter what, and even though that person was Dean, it was still a nice feeling.

Maybe especially nice _because_ it was him.

Upon reaching one of the benches, he sat down with a leisurely sigh, leaning back against the table behind him and stretching like a big cat, extending his arms toward the sky and straightening his back until he heard something pop, it sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. He sank lower on the bench and let his head fall back, closing his eyes and spreading his arms on the table, enjoying the way the bright rays of sunshine warmed his face. The weather was rather chilly, but since he had his jacket on, he wasn’t cold at all, the hot sun and the cool gusts of wind creating a pleasant mix that had him relaxing in no time, which was probably why he jolted a bit when he heard the thump near his head.

“Got you some mango juice,” he heard Dean say as he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, looking up at the boy who was grinning down at him. “Will that suffice, miss?”

Pretending he didn’t hear that comment just now, Sam sat up straight and picked up the can of mango juice that the boy had put on the table, turning it in his hands before opening it. “Thanks,” he murmured, then reluctantly moved to the side to give Dean some room on the bench when the boy tried to sit down.

“Welcome,” Dean said as he flopped down next to him, opening his can of Sprite and taking a large swig from it, Sam quickly looking away and taking a sip of his own drink when he realized he was staring at the other.

They drank like that, in silence, for a minute or two, before he could feel Dean’s inquisitive gaze on him. He avoided looking at the boy for as long as he could, then lowered his drink into his lap and glanced up at the other.

“What?” he asked hesitantly, to what the boy furrowed his brow into a slight scowl.

“What was it?” Dean asked in return, his tone hiding genuine curiosity and maybe even concern. “Something bad happen to you in a motel before? Did someone hurt you…?”

Sam’s grip around the can tightened, the boy’s eye boring into him in a way that meant no escape, no talking around the subject. Plus he seemed pretty determined to find out what was wrong with Sam, immediately assuming the worst, and while it should have been ironic how an aggressive person like Dean appeared worried that someone hurt him, it just made him want to reassure the boy that that wasn’t the case.

So he shook his head, letting out a long sigh and wondering what the hell he was doing before telling the boy everything. “I didn’t always use to live in that house, you know,” he began, staring at the cold can in his hands as he spoke. “Me and my dad…we used to go from motel to motel. We only moved into the house you guys found me in when I was eleven. Until then, we were on the road all the time, and it wasn’t like some fun road trip, either. Not with my dad always locking me in the room whenever he went out, doing god knows what. He either came home drunk, totally shit-faced and passing out on the floor, or covered in wounds. He would never tell me what he did, would never let me tag along, so I was always alone. And even when he was in the room, or in the car with me, it was still like I was all alone. It was like…like he lived in a completely different world. You know what we were, right? Doomsday preppers, so I guess that should have been understandable, but no prepper family was like that. Those people I saw on TV didn’t hate humanity the way my dad did. They didn’t lock their kids up, didn’t leave them alone to worry and break down in tears, thinking that maybe nobody would ever come back to them, that maybe that was the last time they saw their parent. And now…” His voice cracked with emotion, Sam’s hands trembling from the strength he gripped the can. “Now he really is gone. He’s dead, he was supposed to be invincible, but instead went and got himself killed, a-and the motel room just made me remember everything, and him, and I just…”

He sniffed, great, he was going to start crying in front of Dean of all people. Hurriedly rubbing his eyes to get rid of any tears that managed to escape, he turned his head away from the boy, then tensed when he felt Dean’s thigh press against his as the other moved closer.

“I’m sorry,” he heard the boy say, biting down on his bottom lip as he noticed how weak the other’s voice was. “I… We didn’t think about that. We never do, and I know that’s horrible, but that’s just how we operate. But that doesn’t justify what I did; what Benny did. And I’m so sorry, Sam. Sorry that you had to live a life like that, and sorry for taking it away from you so abruptly and cruelly…”

Sam stayed silent, watching a patch of grass as he let Dean’s words sink in, let them fill him with a bitter anger and something else, something very close to forgiveness. He then couldn’t keep his gaze on the grass anymore as he felt a hand on his own in the middle of squeezing the life out of the juice can, and Sam looked back at the person who ruined his life, saw the remorse and sorrow in his eye which was just as green as the grass he’s been watching, and suddenly, he just couldn’t hate him anymore. He let Dean peel his hand away from the can and take it in his own, let him caress the skin with the pad of his thumb, then averted his eyes and felt his face flush, but still let him raise his hand to his lips and place a soft kiss on the back of it.

Dean mumbled another apology into his skin, before letting go of his hand and tucking a few strands of hair behind the quiet boy’s ear. “Never again,” he whispered, leaning close to Sam and lightly touching his cheek with the back of his fingers. “I promise that I won’t hurt you ever again, won’t let anyone hurt you while I’m alive.”

New tears wanted to leave his eyes from those words, Sam not even sure why he felt like crying anymore. He pressed his lips together into a thin line and nodded slightly, hoping his bangs would shield his burning face from the boy as he lowered his head, before slowly peering up at him through his hair. “O-Okay…” he said thinly after finding his voice, which was still weak and feeble, but at least it didn’t break.

He quickly averted and lowered his gaze again, holding his breath when Dean pecked his forehead, and only let it out as a shaky exhale when the boy pulled back and smiled softly at him, Sam cursing that sweet asshole. Sweet, caring jerk, who made him feel a strange and unusual tightness in his chest.

“Wanna try?” Dean asked suddenly, changing the subject as he shook his can of drink invitingly, wiggling his eyebrows like an idiot.

Sam blinked at him, kept a straight face for about a second, then let out a small laugh and shook his head. “No, thanks.”

“Then gimme yours,” he said, and before Sam could have saved his own drink, the boy was already attacking and snatching the can away from him, grinning victoriously at the other when he tried to take the drink back.

“Hey, who said you could have mine?” Sam growled, annoyed, but when he tried to grab the can, Dean freaking flicked him with his fingers.

“Sharing is caring,” the boy teased, before downing the rest of Sam’s drink, only giving him back the can once it was empty.

“You…” He shot a glare at the other, his frustration growing when Dean just laughed and leaned back against the table, all nonchalant and shit.

“Sorry, just couldn’t resist,” he said with a wink, to what Sam rolled his eyes and placed the empty can between them, it serving as a makeshift barrier as he also rested against the table, waiting with Dean for the taxi.

When it finally arrived, they climbed into the backseat while Dean told the chauffeur where they wanted to go, then spent the drive listening to the French radio and looking at the scenery through the window. It was ever-changing, Sam watching colorful cars and buildings one second, then getting lost in a sea of gray as they travelled deeper into the city, to the heart of France. The view was soon filled with green, with trees hugging the road, and his eyes widened as he noticed the Tower coming into view, saw its massive form looming over the people of Paris.

They crossed a smaller bridge as they neared their destination, then the car pulled up in front of a park next to the Tower, Dean quickly paying the man before opening the door and getting out. Sam followed, only hearing as the taxi drove away as he was too busy gaping up at the iron giant, craning his neck to see the top.

“How long do you plan on just standing over there?” the boy asked, Sam’s head snapping toward him and noticing that Dean had already started walking to the Tower.

He quickly scurried after the boy, crossing the park as they walked over to the enormous structure. There was a long line on each side under it, so they chose the one that appeared somewhat shorter and waited, Sam getting excited each time he looked up at the Tower, the realization that he could actually get to climb it, maybe even go all the way to the top filling him with a rush of adrenaline and some unease. He was looking forward to this, of course he was, but his eagerness to get on the Eiffel Tower did not cancel out his fear of heights, which really didn’t come in handy in situations like this one.

After an agonizingly long amount of time, they finally got their tickets, then had to peer over shoulders—at least Dean did, Sam was too short for that—to spot the stairs, before elbowing their way through the swarm of humans in their way to get to it.

“Hey, you know I think I saw a lift somewhere,” Dean said after ten steps up the stairs, making the other snort.

“Don’t be lazy, we’re taking the stairs!” Sam declared, grinning at the boy when he sighed and grumbled something under his breath, then rushed ahead, wanting to reach the first floor as soon as possible. He glided his fingers along the iron fence surrounding the stairs as he walked up, watching as the trees and people gradually became smaller, but he wasn’t feeling nauseous yet, although he did start getting tired after a while, maybe regretting his decision on taking the stairs after all.

It wasn’t long before Dean caught up to him, as Sam had to lean against the fence after climbing what he imagined to be an impressive amount of steps, needing to catch his breath.

“What’s up Sammy?” the boy said tauntingly, grinning smugly as he stopped next to him. “Defeated by the stairs already?”

“You just,” Sam panted slightly as he pointed an accusatory finger at Dean, “shut the hell up, okay?”

Dean raised his hands in mock defeat, that irritating grin still stuck to his face as he said, “Alright, alright. Don’t eat me.”

Shooting him a quick glare, Sam took a deep breath before resuming his climb up the stairs. After approximately four more minutes of constant climbing, his eyes lit up with relief when he saw the orange sign reading “1st FLOOR” on the top of the stairs, taking a few steps forward on the floor upon reaching it, before bending over with his hands braced on his knees and heaving for air. All that lying around in his room really got him out of shape, it seemed.

Noticing something, Sam immediately forgot about catching his breath and he walked outside, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he placed his hands on the glass barrier and looked down into the middle of the Tower, watching as the people came and went below him.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Dean joined him after a moment, tapping the thick glass under him with his foot. “They look like ants like this.”

Sam nodded, taking as few steps away from the barrier before looking down at the glass floor. It was pretty scary, a tiny voice in his head screaming at him to run and find some solid ground, but it wasn’t like this floor could actually collapse under him, right? Yet no matter how brave he tried to appear, Sam still couldn’t stay on it longer than a minute, slowly moving to the area that wasn’t covered with a carpet of suspiciously clear glass after a while. There, he kept looking down and around, watching as the human-shaped shadows followed their owners wherever they went, until he felt a hand on his head, ruffling his hair.

“Come on, let’s get to the top of this thing,” the boy suggested, smirking when Sam turned around to look at him. “And this time, we’re using the elevator.”

Fixing his hair, he rolled his eyes, but agreed nonetheless. “Alright,” he said and then scanned this floor on the Tower, his face brightening when he spotted the elevator.

They headed toward the larger than normal lift, Sam groaning inwardly as he saw just how many people were trying to squeeze themselves into the thing, but since he honestly doubted that the number of tourists would’ve changed if they waited for the next ride up, he reluctantly stepped inside, then got instantly surrounded by men and women from all sides. He tried to somehow find a wall, or some place where he could breathe maybe, then was suddenly being pushed toward one of the glass walls of the elevator, tensing when he felt the pair of hands on his shoulders, but immediately relaxing and letting out a small sigh of relief when he noticed it was just Dean. The boy forced his way through the thick crowd, not seeming to mind the hard stares he got whenever he elbowed or even shoved someone too harshly, not stopping until Sam was sandwiched between the wall and the boy, which was uncomfortable, but still better than being trapped in a herd of strangers.

“I hate crowds,” Dean mumbled from behind him, since Sam was facing the glass and watching as they began ascending, smiling when he saw a small child waving at them from outside.

His smile soon faltered and withered though, his fear of heights finally kicking in when some of the iron fell away to reveal a horizon consisting of roofs that stretched away seemingly forever, and the longer he kept his eyes on them, the sicker he felt. Not wanting his nausea to ruin this for him, Sam closed his eyes and turned around, however when he opened them again, he found himself in a situation that just might have been worse than the previous one.

Dean was standing right in front of him, his chest inches away from Sam’s face. The boy had his hands braced against the glass wall, completely shielding the other with his body, but that also meant that no matter where the younger boy looked, all he could see was Dean. He fidgeted, not knowing what to do with his hands so he just slid them in his jacket pockets, before slowly gazing up at the boy’s face, watching as he looked at the scenery through the glass; then swiftly averted his gaze as Dean must have sensed his eyes on him and looked down at Sam.

He heard the other’s low chuckle, and just knew Dean wouldn’t stay quiet about it. “Lookin’ at me instead of the view? Sammy, you’re gonna make me blush,” he said teasingly, laughing when Sam gritted his teeth.

“I’ve got a fear of heights, idiot,” he muttered, shooting a quick glare at the way too pleased-looking boy. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“If you’re scared, then why are we even here in the first place?” Dean asked warily, raising an eyebrow at him, and Sam sighed.

“Because this is the Eiffel Tower. And I’m not scared, just feeling a bit sick and nervous…” he said, feeling a bit glad when the elevator finally stopped and slid its doors open. He stayed inside until the horde was gone, only emerging when he was positive he wouldn’t get trampled over by some rabid tourist, and then he and Dean followed the line of people heading for another elevator, supposedly the one leading to the top.

This time he stayed close to the doors and made sure not to look outside, feeling kind of pathetic when Dean began rubbing his arms soothingly, and even though he tried convincing himself that he didn’t need those reassuring touches, he couldn’t deny their effects. Soon, he felt himself calm down, only feeling slightly tense when the elevator reached the top and opened its doors again. He quickly stepped outside, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure the boy was following as he walked over to the set of stairs he spotted to his right, then made his way up the steps until he reached an open door.

And even though he hated heights, Sam couldn’t help but rush forward and grab the railing with an amazed smile on his face, his eyes wide as he gazed out and down at the vast city stretching away around him. Dean whistled as he stepped up next to him, a low “Whoa” leaving his lips. The air was much colder up here, making Sam shiver as a gust of chilly wind snatched at his hair and ruffled it like leaves on a tree. The metal railing under his palm felt like ice to his warm skin, but he didn’t care, didn’t let neither the weather nor the fact that they were at least nine hundred feet up in the air bother him. He might have gripped the rails tighter to feel safer, even though there was a safety fence around it, but instead of focusing on the nagging voice of terror in the back of his mind, Sam ignored it and stared out at Paris, the City of Love, and felt happy. So happy that he smiled broadly at Dean when the boy snaked an arm around his shoulders, his smile only growing and hurting his cheeks when the other returned it, his own smile maybe not as wide as Sam’s but just as cheerful.

“Like it?” Dean asked, nodding to the scenery in front and around them as he cautiously pulled Sam closer, sort of half-hugging him.

Not having it in him to mind just how touchy the boy was right now, Sam glanced from Dean to the city, then back at him, and flashing him a gleeful little grin. “Yeah, it’s amazing. So high and just so…beautiful. Thank you,” he said, truly meaning it.

Dean looked at him in a way that made him feel that same weird tightness in his chest, before smiling gladly. “No need to, it’s my pleasure,” he said dismissively, a light chuckle leaving him. “As long as I get to see those dimples, I’m willing to take you to the end of the world, if you want me to.”

That froze Sam’s smile on his face right away, a merciless blush heating his face as he quickly looked away. “You have any idea how incredibly cheesy that sounded?” he asked, trying to discreetly move away from the boy, but Dean was keeping him close, his hold around the other’s shoulders unrelenting.

Sam felt him shrug, then heard him say, “Yeah I know, which is exactly why I don’t usually say stuff like that. I hate chick-flick moments, but…I guess you’re an exception.”

“Huh…” Sam remarked informatively, not quite sure what to make of that, so he just stayed silent. His mood quickly went from zero to one hundred thanks to this visit, but now he was getting uneasy again, thanks to Dean’s sudden comment. How was one supposed to react to something like that, anyway? The boy teasing him, getting all perverted like some freak in a white van—and oh look, they actually had a van, how fitting—or even being violent, he could react to those, knew how to more or less handle them. But him acting like some main character from a cheap romance movie, saying things Sam could only imagine coming from a guy named Fernando, in some Spanish soap opera?

Yeah, Sam’s brain was kinda short-circuiting from being overloaded by all sorts of thoughts.

Noticing his sudden discomfort, Dean sighed and pushed himself away from the railing, jabbing his thumb toward the staircase behind him. “I think I saw a restaurant on the first floor, wanna go?” he asked with a smirk that looked somewhat forced, making Sam cringe inwardly for some reason.

He was feeling a bit hungry now, though, so he nodded silently, before following the boy back to the stairs and the elevator. There was an awkward silence between them as they looked for the alleged restaurant, Sam knowing that it was probably because of him, but it was Dean’s fault for saying stuff like that, confusing his heart that wasn’t faring well at all, been acting weird for a few days now.

They found the restaurant after a while of searching and walking around. It was a smaller red building next to the hole in the middle of the tower, called 58 Tour Eiffel, and if Sam thought it looked nice from the outside, he couldn’t help but gape around when they stepped inside. Dean got them a table next to the window and with an amazing view, which shouldn’t have been possible with the amount of people in the restaurant, making Sam wonder if the boy had actually paid off their waiter, and honestly, he wouldn’t even have been surprised if that ended up being the case. Either way, he felt both nervous and excited as he took a seat at the fancy table, this being the first time he’s ever been to a restaurant, and such an elegant one at that. He took a quick glance at the boy, who was sitting opposite him and picking up the menu, before following his example and examined his own menu.

It wasn’t long before he was raising his gaze again, giving Dean a weird look when he asked, “Which do you think would win in a fight? A salmon with legs or a chicken?”

Sam frowned, mouthing the words “What the” as he watched Dean grinning at his menu, then looking up at him, raising the paper in his hand.

“These are the only meats on here.”

“There’s a salmon with legs on the menu?” Sam blurted, and the boy laughed.

“No, I just gave it legs to make the fight a bit more fair,” he stated.

Sam stared at him for a long moment, before shaking his head. “Sometimes I just… I don’t get you,” he said, then couldn’t help but laugh as well. Dean was so weird, but his random comments were also hilarious, making him want to facepalm himself and burst out laughing at the same time.

“What I don’t get is this place,” Dean grumbled, tossing the menu on the table as if it had mortally offended him. “Where’s the steak? The beef? The hamburgers? They could at least have some french fries!”

“You do know that french fries aren’t actually French…right?” Sam asked as he raised his eyebrows at the other, a small smirk spreading across his face when Dean rolled his eye.

“’Course I know,” he said, leaning back in the comfortable brown chair and gazing out the window. “I’m just sayin’…”

“Saying what? Are you actually complaining that this restaurant doesn’t offer junk food?”

“Hey,” Dean said with a sulking frown, “it’s a treasure. A real man’s meal. These things, they’re…just rabbit food, shit people on a diet would eat!”

Sam snorted. “A real man, huh? I don’t see anyone like that here,” he teased the other, a satisfied smile crossing his face when the boy grunted in annoyance.

“You’re one to talk,” Dean’s eye narrowed as he leaned forward, a wicked smirk curling his lips. “I ain’t the little virgin here.”

His eyes widened slightly at that, his cheeks burning up in sudden embarrassment, and he muttered something incomprehensible as he slid down in his chair and hid his face behind the menu. Hearing the boy’s amused chuckle only made him want to disappear that much more, and he just stared at the letters on the paper for a moment while willing his body to calm down, before actually looking at the menu and attempting to choose something from it.

After some time of deep thinking and silence, the waiter arrived and took their orders. Sam got himself some smoked salmon with apple and celery remoulade, while Dean argued with the waiter until he brought him some roasted veal with gravy, and if he dared to forget the fries, all hell would break loose.

They ate their food silently, for a while, until Dean stole some of his salmon, then made a face as he began chewing it, before simply spitting it out. Sam tried to stick his fork in the boy’s veal and take it, as payback, but each time his hand shot forward—in a way that could have even been called swift and sneaky—Dean always managed to block his attacks with his own fork, sometimes even poking his hand with it. In the end, Sam did manage to steal some of the fries, and even though he didn’t eat them, he kept them on the side of his plate that was furthest from the boy, flashing an innocent grin at him when Dean glowered at him.

Once they were both done eating, Sam rubbed his belly contentedly and leaned back in his chair, ready to fall into a smaller food coma, but apparently, Dean had other plans. The boy waved the waiter over and asked for the check, then tossed a considerable amount of money on the table when it arrived, before standing up and dragging a groaning Sam to his feet. He followed the other outside, then to the elevator that took them to the ground level, then yawned as they walked through the park before reaching the sidewalk, where Dean pulled out his phone and called another taxi.

“Canal Saint-Martin next, right?” the boy asked him while on the phone, Sam nodding absentmindedly and looking around the road that led to the bridge not far from where they were standing, wondering how surreal all of this was. They were criminals, smugglers that only came to Paris because of a job, but still, here they were, visiting the city like normal people. And that, being able to finally feel normal, made his heart swell with happiness. He wanted to be ordinary ever since he found out he wasn’t, and Dean made his wish come true.

Smiling to himself, he glanced at the boy, and his previous happiness melted into something warmer. Never would have he thought that it would be Dean—someone he used to hate, wanted to shoot when he first saw him—who’d make him feel this way, be the one to put a genuine, joyful smile on his face. It was so weird, but at the same time, somehow, so right.

Now if only he could find out what this rampant, but pleasant, tightness in his chest was, he’d be golden.

 


	12. The City Of Love

 

They sat on a park bench while waiting for the taxi, Sam knowing that he should mind just how close Dean was deliberately sitting next to him, but he didn’t move, no matter how much this closeness made him hyperaware of every single move he made, breath he took; of each and every inch of his limbs that were pressed against the boy’s.

“So,” Dean said after a long moment of just sitting in silence and listening to the sound of traffic, “how did you like it? Was the famous Eiffel Tower as good as you imagined?”

He clasped his hands together in his lap and looked at Dean, who was watching him searchingly with an arm extended across the bench behind him, close to touching his shoulders but not. “Yeah, it was pretty awesome,” he answered with a small smile, which he couldn’t stop from widening when he saw the boy’s own glad one. “Way better than I thought, and even though it was kinda…scary at the top, what with how high it was, I still enjoyed every second of it.”

“Great. I’m glad I took you here, then,” Dean stated, Sam having to tighten the hold on his hands and look away from the boy’s keen gaze if he didn’t want his damn face to overheat.

“Me too…” he murmured lowly, and for fuck’s sake, he would’ve bet that even his ears were a bright red color by now.

Thankfully, the boy didn’t point out how painfully obviously embarrassed he was, which was perfect, because even Sam didn’t know why he was blushing. It seemed like today his face was red more often than a normal color, which really annoyed and, of course, embarrassed him even more, it seemingly impossible to for him to leave this vicious circle.

When the taxi finally arrived, he was back on his feet fast, getting into the car and sitting as close to the door as possible, relieved when Dean didn’t try to pull him back or crawl closer to him. They boy kept a respectful distance from him as they sat in the backseat of the taxi, however still shot a few playful glances his way, chuckling lowly when Sam tried to pretend he didn’t see them, in vain. And whenever Dean tried to strike up a conversation during the half-an-hour drive, Sam went with it, however each time their talks turned into petty arguments, childish insults, sometimes even ending with the boy leaning over and tickling him, startling Sam who made some pretty unmanly shrieks and irrepressible laughs as he swatted at the other’s hands. They really were like kids like this, but somehow, he found himself enjoying it, laughing or rolling his eyes at Dean’s stupid comments. He didn’t get irritated by his remarks, by his invasive touches, sometimes Sam being the one to attack the other, flicking and kicking him playfully, having to wonder from time to time if he wasn’t high again, because it shouldn’t have been possible for him to feel so relaxed and happy around Dean.

They were out of the taxi as soon as it stopped, the boy hanging back to pay the chauffeur while Sam walked forward, his eyes probably sparking or something as he wandered over to the wide sidewalk, before crouching down where the pavement fell away to reveal a long stream of water—the Canal Saint-Martin. It was calm, its surface smooth and undisturbed, Sam fighting the urge to touch, then gave up and leaned forward, getting on his knees and reaching out, dipping his fingers into the cold water and raking the digits through the silky wetness, stirring it. Enthralled by the water, he wouldn’t have noticed Dean, if not for the boy’s reflection suddenly appearing on the rippled surface, making Sam pull back to look up at him.

“Doesn’t take much to fascinate you, huh?” Dean asked jokingly, crouching down next to him and gazing at the giant snake that was the canal. “It’s really just water.”

“Yeah, but it’s pretty,” Sam stated with a shrug. “It’s nice looking at it, makes you feel calm, you know?”

“Whatever you say,” the boy commented, before giving him a small nudge, nearly pushing him into the water by accident.

Scurrying away from the edge, just to make sure Dean wouldn’t get any funny ideas, he shot a glare at the grinning boy as he got to his feet. “Jerk,” he said with a humph.

“Bitch,” Dean retorted, his grin widening then rapidly vanishing when Sam scooped up some water and threw it at him. “Hey!”

The younger boy snickered, backing away and flashing the other a complacent grin. “Oops, that’s karma for you.”

“You little…” Dean growled, baring his teeth like an animal and starting toward him, Sam gulping with a nervous smile as his eyes darted around in search for a possible escape route, then felt a glimmer of hope and quickly spun around, running down the sidewalk.

Dean immediately began chasing after him, of course, why wouldn’t he? And Sam was doing so well, even reaching a small, arched bridge that crossed the canal, but he only got to the middle, the surprisingly fast boy catching up to him and grabbing his wrist. He let out a small sound that was most definitely not a squeak as he got pulled back and into Dean’s arms, his eyes widening, and he realized that maybe running wasn’t such a fun idea after all.

“Got ya now,” the boy purred, lightly pushing him against the turquoise metal bridge railing, and then pinched his cheek, hard.

“Ow, stop that,” Sam whined as he batted at the other’s hand, rubbing his cheek when Dean finally stopped hurting him.

“Payback,” he said with a wink, before ruffling Sam’s hair and making a mess out of it on purpose.

Sighing, he turned around and fixed his hair to the best of his ability, then leaned his forearms on the railing and looked out at the canal, tucking some strands of shaggy hair behind his ear when a soft breeze blew them in front of his eyes. Dean stayed behind him, his hands braced on the railing on either side of Sam, a tiny smile tugging at the younger boy’s lips when he felt the other resting his chin on his head. His presence was undeniable behind him, a solid warmth pressing against Sam’s back and enveloping his body with another sort of warmth, a comfortable a strangely pleasant one, making him want to lean back into it. He didn’t, though, just watching the water instead and thinking, finally forcing himself to think.

Today has been the weirdest day in his life, including the day he was kidnapped, and it wasn’t even over yet. It was weird because of all the new and confusing emotions he’s been feeling, and Dean’s behavior. He was so…nice. He was kind and caring with Sam, gentle and funny, making his heart skip a beat each time he saw the boy smile. And it wasn’t fair, Dean wasn’t supposed to make him feel that way, make him so incredibly happy. He wasn’t supposed to be the sweet one here, because then that meant that Sam was the asshole. It was true, he couldn’t keep lying to himself and to the other, because that’s exactly what was going on. Sam hurt the boy with his lies, never even apologized to him, and now he was being all understanding and affectionate, and it was killing him. Their roles were completely switched, and his heart couldn’t take this anymore, and neither could he, because Dean might have deserved all the shit that Sam has been giving him before, but not anymore, and yet he still couldn’t stop. Oh god, he was the worst. The fucking, absolute worse, a spoiled little brat, and still, Dean didn’t care. He treated him like he was something delicate to be worshipped, might have acted violent from time to time but those outbursts were always followed by tender touches, only driving Sam further into madness.

“Hey, Sam?” He heard the boy’s concerned voice from behind him, only now noticing that his shoulders were shaking, his cheeks wet from tears he didn’t even realize have left him. He sniffed, gritted his teeth, but those freaking tears wouldn’t stop, and then Dean was turning him around, the look on his face only wanting to make Sam cry harder. “Whoa, Sammy, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Stop it!” Sam exclaimed weakly, his hands trembling as he gripped the boy’s jacket. “J-Just stop being so nice already!”

Dean blinked at him, stunned, then frowned and wiped away the stubborn tears from the other’s eyes. “Sammy…”

But before he could’ve said anything else, Sam was shaking his head and snapping, unable to keep all these feelings to himself anymore, they were overflowing and bursting his heart, and he just needed to let them out.

“Y-You’re too kind, Dean,” he mumbled, hoping he wasn’t ugly-crying at such an important moment, but he probably was. “And that’s just not right, okay? You’re not supposed to be like this, and I’m not supposed to feel so guilty. But I am and I can’t stop it, I’m the asshole here. I hurt you, Dean you were right, and I never apologized. I’m so…fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m a liar, yes, it’s true. I lied about not liking when you t-touched me, and I’m sorry, but I was so confused. I still am, because you make me feel things I’ve never felt before, and they scare me. My own reactions and emotions terrify me, Dean, and I just don’t understand anything anymore, a-and I’m afraid that maybe—” His voice broke, and he was hyperventilating now, his eyes wide and vision blurry from tears, his breathing rapid and erratic. “That maybe I…”

He sniffed loudly, needing to breathe through his dry mouth thanks to his now stuffy nose, feeling like some miserable animal left on the side of the road as he looked up at Dean when the boy cupped his chin and raised his head. The warm, caring look on Dean’s face wasn’t helping either, making him want to burst out in fresh tears, but he managed to somehow stop himself from breaking down, instead just shaking in the other’s arms when he pulled him into a hug.

“Sam, you…” Dean whispered, tightening his hold around the pitiful boy, who was still grasping the leather jacket in his fingers as if his life depended on it. “Idiot.”

Frowning, Sam rubbed his eyes and pushed himself away from the boy, feeling hurt as he glared weakly at him, the glare lacking any real anger. He felt a dull ache in his head from all the crying, the slight pain turning uncomfortable when his scowl deepened, because the boy was freaking _laughing_ now, and Sam was seriously about to start crying again, when Dean leaned down, his face suddenly inches away from the other’s.

“Alright Sammy,” the boy purred, smiling softly at him. “Let’s see if this’ll help with your confusion.” His smile turned into a smirk, and then his hands were sliding up to Sam’s neck, tilting his head back before pressing his plump lips against his in a gentle kiss.

Sam’s eyes widened, but since that was kinda hurting him right now, he closed them soon after, let them fall shut. He just stood there in slight shock for a moment, with Dean’s impossibly tender lips on his own, before giving in and moving his hands up to the boy’s shoulders, grabbing them as he got on his tiptoes to get better access, and then slowly kissed him back. Smiling into the kiss, the boy began lapping at Sam’s lips like some kitten, to which he blushed and made a small whimper, then felt his face heat up even more at the sound. Dean’s tongue slipped into his mouth after it was done playing with his lips, prodding at his teeth and demanding entrance, which Sam granted almost immediately, parting his lips and letting the curious, warm flesh inside. The sweet, passionate kiss soon deepened and turned rather hot when Dean began sucking at the younger boy’s tongue, teasing it with his own, then moved his mouth fervently, kissing him harder and harder, and in a way that left little room for doubt about his intentions and feelings, along with Sam’s. Because Sam was kissing him back on his own, desperately and ardently, wanting and needing it just as much as the other boy, his whole body engulfed in growling flames that lit every inch of his skin, along with his frantic heart, on fire.

They kissed for who knows how long, only parting when Sam was about to pass out, the panting boy filling his lungs with much needed air while looking at Dean with a pair of glimmering eyes.

Flashing him a satisfied grin, Dean caressed his cheek and asked in a low voice, “Any better?”

Sam licked his lips sheepishly, swallowing as he nodded his head yes. “I… Yeah, um…” he mumbled clumsily, his mouth not wanting to work, his brain apparently deciding to choose this as the perfect moment to shut down.

“Good,” the boy said with a soft, silent chuckle, placing a lingering kiss on his cheek before pulling back and smiling down at him. “As long as you finally get it, everything’s good.”

He nodded again, then was pretty sure that his face would have started steaming if he’d have been in a cartoon when Dean took a hold of his hand, entwining their fingers as he tugged Sam away from the railing.

“Come on, next are the catacombs, right?” he asked, but all Sam could do was nod still, too afraid and abashed to speak at the moment. Dean didn’t seem to mind, his smile just turning back into an amused grin at the other’s shy behavior as they walked off the bridge, hand in hand.

Oh god, Sam was going to faint.

His hand that was in Dean’s was sweating like crazy, his face probably looked like a freaking stop light, and the word embarrassed would have been an understatement of what he was feeling. People were giving him weird looks, especially those that have seen their little moment on the bridge, making him duck his head and wish he could turn invisible.

But he was happy. Everything felt like it was a strange dream, Sam still in the middle of processing what just happened, but he wasn’t regretting anything. He came on that bridge with a whole bucket of doubts, an ocean of confusions, and left it with his mind and heart relatively at peace. He was surprised, though. Realizing just how he felt about Dean…yeah, it was kind of a shocker. But the physical attraction was undeniable, and apparently that had grown into something so much more, and now it was clear as day.

He liked Dean.

He was in love with that sweet jerk, and no matter how wrong that should have been, Sam couldn’t possibly change his feelings, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t, wouldn’t want to trade them for anything else, not now, not ever.

Never would he have thought that he’d end up falling for him, that this trip would make him realize his feeling for Dean, but he wasn’t sad that it did. Kind of weirded out? Maybe. But sad? Hell no.

He had to wonder what this would mean for his future, though. Were he and Dean…going out now? It was pretty damn obvious how he felt about the boy, even though he didn’t say it out loud. Actually, it seemed like Dean has known how Sam felt before him, which either meant that the other was very talented at reading people, or Sam was simply an oblivious idiot.

Yeah, it was probably both.

Did the boy love him back, though? Okay, no that was a stupid question. There was no doubt that Dean liked him, even went as far as claim Sam as his own. Then there was the fact that he was a complete sweetheart today, however did that mean love? Or was Dean simply playing him…?

Great, once he wasn’t a big ball of anxiety thanks to his own feelings, he began worrying about Dean. It seemed like this emotional torture would never stop, Sam pretty sure at this point that his brain and heart were, indeed, in a twisted sadomasochist relationship, teaming up against and laughing at him behind his back.

Not needing that crap on his mind right now, he let out a silent sigh and glanced at where their fingers were intertwining, taking his lower lip between his teeth and biting at it nervously. His hand was clammy in the other’s, but it didn’t seem to be bothering Dean at all, his hold firm and unyielding as they walked down the sidewalk, before stopping at a tree.

Turning to Sam, the boy reluctantly pulled his hand away and took out his phone, waving it at him with a sly smirk. “Memories?” he suggested, pressing a button and showing the other the phone’s screen.

“A picture?” Sam asked with his eyebrows raised, and when Dean nodded eagerly, he quickly looked about himself before giving a casual shrug. “Uh, sure…”

He stood there for a moment, waiting for Dean to join him, but when it became evident that the boy simply wanted to take a picture of Sam, he leaned against the tree behind him and then—not really sure what to do in order not to seem painfully awkward—forced himself to smile. At least he hoped it was a smile and he didn’t look like some horse baring its teeth at the phone.

And then Dean began laughing, so nope, he probably looked miserable.

He pushed himself away from the tree with a huff, about to just stomp off, but the boy waved him back with a huge grin on his face. “Sorry, sorry. You just looked so stupid,” he said with another laugh as he raised the phone. “How about you make a sexy pose?”

Sam just gave him his best bitchface and folded his arms. “I have a better idea. How about you stick that phone up where the sun doesn’t shine instead? Jackass.”

“Pull back those claws, kitty; I just want a picture,” Dean said teasingly, winking at the glaring boy when he sighed in defeat, knowing that he was fighting a losing battle anyway, so he reluctantly leaned back against the tree and looked at the phone’s camera, suddenly getting an idea.

“This good enough for you, mister photographer?” he asked, a shy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he placed his foot against the tree and ran a hand through his hair playfully, feeling a slight blush heat his cheeks as Dean licked his lips, before grinning.

“Hmm, not bad,” he said with a horrible French accent, making Sam laugh. “Maybe turn your head to the right a bit, s’il vous plait.”

He muffled another laugh. “Alright, monsieur,” he drawled, doing as he was told, then kept his pose until Dean lowered the phone and slid it back into his pocket.

“Perfect,” the boy said as he walked over to Sam, who just rolled his eyes but couldn’t get rid of that stupid blush on his face.

“Let’s just go now,” he mumbled, relieved when Dean nodded.

They didn’t need to call a taxi this time, as several ones were already lined up near one of the sidewalks. It took them to the catacombs in less than an hour, during which Dean kept trying to grab at his hand, and after a while, Sam caved and let the boy hold his hand, not regretting his decision when he saw the pleased grin on the other’s face.

Damn, Sam was becoming such a pansy.

When the car pulled up to the side of the road, in front of a white striped crosswalk, he watched in amazement as the boy paid the chauffeur once again, surprised Dean hadn’t ran out of money yet. But hey, he supposed being a criminal paid well.

They got out and walked to a small, dark green building protruding from a larger stone one, Sam keeping close to the boy as they entered and got their tickets. There was already a group waiting for the next tour, and luckily they arrived just minutes before it departed, so when the guide saw them approaching, she got everyone together and, just like herding sheep, motioned for them to follow her. He and Dean brought up the rear, moving with the group toward a staircase that took them a long way down, it getting noticeably colder the further down they went. Sam rubbed his arms as a chill rushed across his body and made him shudder, however he soon felt warmer when he felt the boy pet his head in a way that could have even been called affectionate, making him glance up at the other, who flashed him a quick smirk.

Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, the group began walking down a long, narrow corridor made of solid earth and stones, with the names of each street they were passing engraved on some of the walls. The guide stopped many times, pausing in the journey to explain the history of the catacombs whenever they reached an important area, for example the smaller museum giving home to a model of an ancient fortress and other curiosities, or a quarry filled with limpid water. After several pauses, they finally reached a black and white doorway above which read “Arrête! C’est ici l’empire de la mort”, but before Sam could’ve even began wondering what that meant, the guide was already translating it, making him kind of regret his decision of choosing to visit this place.

“Stop, this is the empire of death…” Dean mumbled with a small grin. “Sounds like fun.”

Sam sighed. “I don’t think I wanna know what your definition of fun is,” he said, before following the group through the doorway and into another, dimly lit and narrow corridor.

After a very long walk, they reached a part of the catacombs where the ceiling grew, giving the place the look of some sort of temple, and after they crossed it and went through a series of maze-like gates, Sam stepped into a chamber filled to the brim with bones. Of human bones, stacked neatly on both sides of the room, serving as makeshift walls for the underground tomb.

Yep, he was definitely regretting his choice now.

Staying by the doorway, he watched as the rest of the group took pictures and filmed the horrifying scene, while he just stood there, wondering why he thought this would be a great idea in the first place. Sure, he was curious about this place, as he heard it was very interesting and a famous tourist spot, and he was also aware of the bones, but seeing them for real, knowing that all of these corpses were alive once, each piece of bone belonging to an actual human… Sam wasn’t a squeamish person, but was pretty sure he just found his limit.

“What’s up, Sammy? Can’t find your funny bone?” Dean asked jokingly as he joined Sam by the doorway, winking at him. “Get it? You know, ‘coz there’s all these bones, and you look sullen—”

“I get it, but Dean, that was a horrible joke,” Sam stated pointedly, unable to believe the boy just made a kind of joke only a certain skeleton in a certain game would have made, folding his arms as he looked at the boy. “Actually, it doesn’t even deserve to be called a joke.”

Dean faked a pout. “You just don’t understand my genius,” he huffed, before moving closer to the other, his face splitting into a devious grin. “Want me to help lighten up the mood?”

He gazed up at the boy, then quickly looked around and lowered his head, hoping that Dean couldn’t see his blush in the faint glow of the lamps scattered across the chamber. “No, thanks. I just have to get used to all these skulls staring at me, that’s it,” he said quietly, waiting for the other to get away from him, but when that didn’t happen, Sam slowly raised his gaze, nearly making some sort of sound when he saw the way Dean was looking at him.

The boy bit his lower lip seductively while giving him a thorough once-over, before leaning forward and forcing Sam into the rock doorway. “You sure? Because I think my method would work so, so much better,” he purred suggestively, that hypnotizing and deep voice making the other forget where they were and close his eyes, his discomfort from being in this place simply ceasing to exist when he felt Dean’s soft and demanding lips on his own.

He was enjoying kissing the boy more and more, Sam realized in that split second while he was still capable of forming coherent thoughts, then was too busy placing his hands on Dean’s chest and returning the kiss to do such useless things like thinking. They were both lost in the moment, a little bit too much it seemed, as when they finally parted for air, their attention was swiftly drawn by a woman standing next to them and looking very displeased.

“Could you not engage in such vile activities while at an important place like this?” she spat with a thick German accent, her blonde curls swaying angrily as she shook her head, teeth bared in a revolted snarl. “How disgusting, honestly.”

Dean pulled away from him, clenching his fists as he glared at the woman. “What we do is none of your business, lady, so how about you kindly fuck off and go back to the dead,” he retorted harshly, stepping into her personal space as his lips curled into a contemptuous sneer. “Or would you like a closer encounter with them? ‘Coz I could take care of that.”

“Are you threatening me, _boy_?” she demanded with an incredulous scoff, planting her hands on her hips and returning Dean’s glare. “It’s people like you who ruin our society. You’re the trash of humanity!” The woman then looked at Sam, who was trying to appear invisible while horribly failing at it, and pointed a finger at him. “And you. Just how old are you, huh? How can you do such sick, wrong things at such a young age? You should be ashamed of yourself!”

He flushed in both embarrassment and anger, closing his hands into fists as he opened his mouth in indignation, ready to give that annoying woman a piece of his mind, but before he could’ve said anything, Dean was stepping in front of him as if protectively.

And then punched the woman in the face.

Sam watched with wide, unbelieving eyes as the boy grabbed the gasping woman by her necklace with one hand, using the other to slug her in the face several times, until Sam was pretty sure he heard a crunching sound as her nose broke. But Dean didn’t stop there, oh no. He shoved the woman against one of the piles of bones, then proceeded to seize a fistful of her hair and bash her face into the bones, over and over again. It was around then that Sam finally snapped out of his stunned daze, immediately rushing over to the boy and tugging him off the woman before he could’ve killed her.

“Dean, enough!” he yelled, yanking at the other’s arm until he finally gave in and let Sam pull him away from the woman, who then collapsed to the ground. And holy crap, her whole face was bloody and beaten, looking like she’s just been in a round of hardcore MMA fight, and lost.

“Fucking bitch,” Dean growled, spitting on the woman’s limp form, when the guide came speed-walking toward them with a pissed off expression on her face, so this couldn’t mean anything good.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, fixing Dean with a fierce look. “What happened?”

The boy flashed her a crooked grin. “She was asking for it,” he stated, and Sam had to fight the urge to facepalm himself. Or Dean. Preferably with one of the bones.

The guide looked at them, then at the unconscious woman on the ground, then back at Dean. “Out. The both of you, I want you out of the catacombs!” she ordered, her tone making Sam feel like some kid being scolded, but really, he didn’t mind leaving this place, especially after what just happened. He gave the boy a look that briefly said “Don’t start anything”, and then let out a silent sigh of relief when Dean rolled his eye, but nodded and began walking back from where they came from.

He waited until they were out of both the catacombs and the building leading to it, spinning around and shooting an annoyed glare at Dean as soon as they stepped outside. “Really, Dean? What are you, some attack dog? Did you really have to beat the shit out of her?”

The boy snarled. “Skank got everything she deserved, even less. You shouldn’t have stopped me, Sam,” he said with a small growl, fuming where he stood. “I should have just killed her for what she said.”

“I get that you’re angry, I was pissed too, but that…” He shook his head, scowling up at the other. “You took things too far.”

“Oh come on,” Dean snorted, returning Sam’s frown. “This shouldn’t be coming as a surprise, you know the kinda person I am. And sorry for not tolerating when some good-for-nothing whore badmouths us, and especially you. Nobody gets to spout shit like that, not unless they have a death wish.”

“You know, I’m not some damsel in distress. I can stand up for myself,” he said with a frustrated sigh, ruffling his hair, but somehow, he couldn’t stay mad at Dean for long. It was true that the boy’s behavior wasn’t that much of a surprise, considering who he was, and while his violent overprotection was kind of annoying, it was also nice, in a way. So after stealing a glance at the grumbling boy, Sam gave up and mumbled, “But thank you, anyway.”

That had Dean smirking in a matter of milliseconds. “Oh? Did I just hear that right? Did you just thank me?” he taunted Sam, who gave the other an unamused look.

“You’re enjoying yourself way too much,” he remarked. “But yeah, I did. However next time something like this happens, how about you use words first, and send them in the hospital later?”

“Got it,” the boy said, then added, “maybe. I mean I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”

“I’d say that trying is not enough, but with you, that’s probably the furthest I’ll get,” he stated, before shaking his head with a small smile. “You’re like some mama bear, you know that?”

Dean’s grin turned playful. “I’d rather think of myself as an awesome stormtrooper.”

“Yeah, sure. Minus the suit and the awesomeness.” Sam mentioned, mirroring the boy’s grin, and then laughing when he faked an offended gasp.

“How dare you?” Dean huffed, raising his head and spreading his arms. “I am the human embodiment of awesome. I mean what part of me isn’t?” He winked, then added, “Baby, I was born this way.”

Sam blinked at him, raising his eyebrows, then lost it and burst out laughing. He turned away, because looking at Dean just made him want to laugh that much more, then took a deep breath when he finally stopped snickering like a stupid teenager, feeling strangely contented and happy when the boy smiled at him.

“So…wanna get back to the motel now?” he asked cautiously, and Sam couldn’t help but smile as well.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be fine now,” he said and averted his eyes. “Thanks to you…”

He heard Dean’s chuckle, then felt a hand on his shoulder. “You know, this shy attitude of yours is sweet, but if you don’t stop being so adorable, I might have to drag you in an alley and take you,” he said so matter-of-factly, it made Sam stare up at him with wide, startled eyes, knowing that he was blushing like mad when he saw the boy licking his lips.

“Don’t try to blame your…uncontrollable sex drive on me,” he muttered tensely, pulling away from Dean’s hand and looking around, making sure there weren’t any alleyways in his general vicinity.

“Well it ain’t my fault you make me all hot every time we’re together,” Dean stated with a wolfish smirk. “Just looking at you makes me wanna touch you, do so much to you.”

“How you can be so open about this, is beyond me,” Sam said and tried to act natural, dismissive, but that wasn’t half as easy as he thought, especially since the boy’s words were getting to him, his own goddamn body betraying him and getting aroused as memories of their time in the plane filled his mind. “Let’s just…go back to the motel, okay? It’s getting dark already, anyway, and didn’t you say we’re supposed to leave early tomorrow?”

“I never mentioned when we’re leaving, but yeah, it’s actually quite early,” the boy said, thankfully cutting Sam some slack and stopping his teasing for now. “The plane leaves at six in the morning, so we’ll have to hurry.”

“Alright, then.” Sam nodded, walking to the edge of the sidewalk before looking back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the other. “Taxi?”

Dean pulled out his phone and smiled knowingly. “Taxi.”

—

 

By the time they got back to the motel, the sky above them had gained a darker shade, the sun stepping down and it wouldn’t be long before the moon would appear to take its throne.

Sam waited in front of the door while Dean unlocked it, then followed him inside once it was open. Looking around, he should have felt the same gloom from before, but so much has happened today, he made so many new memories, that those haunting him were washed away by the happy ones. That realization made him smile briefly, before walking over to his bed and kicking off his shoes, flopping down on the mattress and stretching while curling his toes and fingers.

“It isn’t that late now, so how about that take-out?” Dean asked when Sam turned on the bed to look at him.

Not feeling too hungry in particular right now, but knowing that he would get peckish pretty soon, he nodded and got up on his elbows as he lay on his stomach. “What kind of take-out?”

“French?” the boy suggested with a grin. “Or pizza. You can never go wrong with pizza.”

“Sure. It’s been a while since I’ve had some pizza, actually,” he said, licking his lips in anticipation at the thought of it, now indeed getting a bit hungry.

“Good choice,” Dean approved, before ordering their food through the phone.

They ate the pizza while watching a reality TV show, taking turns in criticizing the people participating in it and trying to decide which specimen was the one with the lowest IQ. Then they took a shower—separately, of course, no matter how desperately Dean tried to join him—and headed to bed, where once again, Sam had to fight to kick the other out of his bed.

“You’ve got you own, get out!” he hissed, then gasped when he got turned onto his belly, Dean straddling his hips and pulling the blanket out of the way.

“Aw, but can’t we at least have some fun?” the boy purred teasingly, nuzzling the nape of Sam’s neck and making him shiver, the younger boy gripping the pillow and burying his burning face in it.

“N-No…” His already weak voice was muffled by the pillow, and he squeezed his eyes shut when he felt the feathery kisses on his skin, while wondering what the hell he was doing. He could have very easily elbowed Dean in the face, they were in the perfect position for a good old elbow-nose meeting, but instead of fighting it, Sam was secretly wanting it. It was unbelievable, but it was the truth. His skin tingled, he had a whole swarm of freaking butterflies in his stomach, and it felt like the blood in his veins has been switched to lava, to liquid fire, to a violent current of red-hot electricity.

Dean slid his hand up the other’s head, raking his fingers through Sam’s soft hair and moving it out of the way as he kissed up and down the back of his neck, drawing a little whimper from him. “Mmm, what is it, Sammy?” the boy mouthed against his sensitive skin, Sam beginning to tremble slightly when he felt a warm tongue licking him. “Don’t you wanna turn our date into a honeymoon?” he asked, emphasizing the last word with a slow grind of his hips against Sam’s ass, and that was it.

His eyes went comically wide and his breath hitched, Sam snapping and freaking out as he finally elbowed the pervert trying to dry hump him or something, before turning around and landing a brutal kick to the boy’s crotch, sending him tumbling onto the floor.

“Ow!” Dean groaned on the floor, pressing his hands against his crotch as he shot a hard look at the other. “That was way too cruel.”

“That was coming for you for a long time now. You deserved it,” Sam declared with a small glare, grabbing the blanket and covering his body with it, still kind of out of breath and feeling like his skin was going to boil and melt off his flesh, but doing a good job at ignoring it. Or, well, at least trying his hardest to ignore it.

Dean made some sort of growling sound as he got to his feet and crawled into the other bed, probably feeling all sorry for himself and shit, but Sam wasn’t going to apologize, not this time. “You can’t keep pushing me away forever, though, I hope you’re aware of that,” the boy said as he turned on the bed to look at the other, his frown turning into a sly grin. “Soon enough, you’re gonna be the one begging for it… Begging me to fuck you, to hold you down and make you scream until you have no voice left.”

“Hah,” Sam scoffed, but that was pretty much it. No other words could leave his mouth, at least no intelligent ones, not while his body was being assaulted by more heat waves than India. He could feel it, was a hundred percent sure that he was hard, which just made him blush even more, so to put an end to this torturous conversation, he quickly laid back on the bed and turned his back to Dean, praying to every single deity he knew of for the boy to shut up.

And somebody must have heard him, because after a short silence, Dean let out a self-satisfied chuckle and turned off the lamp on his bedside table. “Well, I had fun today. We definitely gotta do something like this again sometime…” he said with a smile audible in his voice, which in turn made Sam smile, but only a little.

“Yeah…” Sam whispered, loud enough for the other to hear. “I had a great time too.”

There was another moment of silence then, this time longer, before Dean said, “Guess I achieved my goal, then. Well, a part of it.” He then chuckled and shifted in his bed. “Now go to sleep. I’ll wake you up tomorrow.”

Sam hummed sleepily as an answer, closing his eyes and letting out a long exhale as he relaxed against the pillow. One day, and everything changed. Though, really, he didn’t mind. He thought he would, thought that accepting his feelings for Dean might ruin him, that it would mean the start of something horrible, but no. Sam was still Sam, he stayed the same, except now he was on better terms with the boy. Well, better terms… He loved him, and apparently, that also meant lusting for him. And Sam had only just finished accepting that he was _in love_ with Dean, so dealing with his body’s needs and wants was out of the question, at least for now. The thought alone of letting the boy have his way with Sam scared him a little, but oh, it aroused him so much more. And no matter how ashamed he was of his thoughts and reactions, he couldn’t help it.

Dean was hot, damn it, and Sam really wasn’t sure how long he’ll be able to keep saying no.

But he could think about his growing sexual needs later, deciding to just go to sleep for now. He forced those thoughts out of his head, cleared his mind, and then drifted off to sleep surprisingly fast. And for the first time in a long time, he felt relatively at peace.

If only he knew…

If only he would have known that having sex with Dean was the least of his worries, maybe then he wouldn’t have fallen asleep with a tiny smile on his lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter so soon? Yes. You're all welcome.  
> Also, any Undertale fans see what I did there with the bone joke? Yeah? Yeah?  
> ...........  
> Bye.


	13. Those Three Little Words

 

The plane ride back was long, but not as excruciatingly so as the one that brought them to France. With Sam acting less like some ice queen, and Dean being relatively decent, they managed to avoid any awkward silences between them that would’ve only prolonged the journey, and instead held hands. Yeah, they did, even if at first Sam kept pulling away, since each time something of Dean’s touched him, his heart rate would go crazy; however he soon learned that there was simply no escaping the boy, especially when they were sitting next to each other in a crowded airplane.

When he noticed the warehouse as they drove back, Sam was surprised to feel relief. It was the sort of “finally, I’m home” relief, which just made this odd homesickness odder. But he guessed that this place was, after all, his home now, and no matter how fun Paris was, he’d still much rather be here than there.

That being said, he couldn’t say that he missed the eerie smile on Nick’s face whenever the man greeted him, it still managing to unsettle Sam a great deal.

He had just brought his suitcase to his room, and was more than ready to jump into his soft and comfy bed, when there was a knock on the door. He turned around where he stood in front of the inviting bed—Sam could’ve sworn it was even whispering to him temptingly—and looked at the door, but without waiting for the boy’s answer, Nick pushed it open, letting himself in.

“Welcome back, Sam.” His voice was low but strong as always, using the tone what Sam imagined psychiatrists would have. “Another success, which makes three in a row. The second job was a bit bumpy, but in the end, a success nonetheless. Your talents are impressive.”

He wasn’t completely sure if he should have felt proud from the compliment, or tuck tail and maybe hide in the wardrobe. Getting praised by a criminal boss was what his life has become now, and no matter how much he still really wasn’t happy with the idea of him being a smuggler, he supposed he’d just have to get used to it. No leaving now, so why keep being bothered by it?

Still, dude was intimidating.

“Thank you,” he said in what he hoped was a courteous way, wondering if he should try smiling, but afraid that he’d look like some stupid seal, Sam was quick to discard that idea.

Nick’s own smile, though, was lively as ever, refusing to leave the man’s enigmatic face as he took a few steps into the room. “I also heard that you took one for the team; again,” he observed, magnetic eyes narrowing. “It meant we had one less package to offer, but I suppose that is still better than losing the whole bag. However if something like this happens again, refrain from consuming or in any way destroying the goods, please. Can you do that?”

“Yea— Yes. Yes, I can,” Sam answered with a nod, feeling as if a weight from his shoulders has been lifted as the man returned it before turning around to leave the room.

Before he did, though, Nick stopped at the doorway and looked back at him, the smile he gave the boy seeming more hollow than usual. “Get some rest, Sam,” the man told him, then was out the door in a moment, shutting it behind himself as he went.

Sam had stopped questioning Nick’s behavior at this point, so he just let out a short sigh of relief and resumed his activities, which consisted in a thorough shower—as twelve hours stuck in a plane didn’t do wonders to his body—and some well earned lazing around on the bed while entertaining himself with a book.

He quickly fell back into his routine of staying in the room and reading, but the trip to Paris did bring about a few changes. For example, he didn’t only venture out of his room when he needed food or drinks, but sometimes, when he got bored with the book in his hands, Sam stalked down the stairs and gave watching some TV a try. He was usually alone, but it wasn’t unlikely for people to join him on the couch, even chat with him. Ruby sought his company the most often, the two of them gradually becoming what Sam might even call friends, and Benny tried to get on his good side as well, although they both knew that there could never be a friendship between them, not with the man being the one who murdered John. That didn’t seem to stop him from trying, and while his sarcastic but sometimes friendly remarks didn’t bother Sam too much, the suggestive winks and knowing smirks the man sent his way whenever Dean was in the room were getting insupportable.

A few days after he got back from overseas, Sam was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, watching some educational channel about animals. Not appearing to mind the noise, Raphael was slumped back in one of the armchairs, engrossed in a much more complicated-looking book than what Sam was used to reading. He stole a glance at the man from time to time, until Raphael looked up from the hardcover and gave him a look, after which Sam decided to just focus on watching the lions on the screen.

A troop of lions were in the middle of lying under the shades of a tree while the narrator’s serious voice explained something about them marking their territory, when a pair of arms wrapped lazily around his neck from behind, Sam tensing momentarily at the sudden physical contact.

“Why are you watching something so boring?” It was Dean’s voice that came next to his ear as the boy leaned closer, and Sam immediately relaxed, fidgeting a little before looking back over his shoulder.

“It might be boring for your uneducated brain, but it’s actually interesting,” he jeered at the other with a tiny grin, then hissed, his grin quickly withering when Dean bit his ear, hard.

“Uneducated, my ass,” the boy grumbled, tugging at Sam’s ear with his teeth until the rapidly blushing boy shoved the heel of his palm in the other’s face and pushed him away.

He grabbed the back of the couch as he turned around to glare at the boy. “Yeah, you are. And a brute, too, which you just proved by biting me like some barbarian,” Sam accused, furrowing his brow when Dean chuckled.

“You know,” he drawled, “saying witty stuff like that would work much better without that obvious blush on your face.” The boy flashed him an irritatingly pompous grin, and Sam just knew that this idiot’s remark only turned his cheeks redder, those words like generous amounts of coal to the steady fire burning in his body. “Actually,” Dean continued, to his demise, “I bet that biting turns you on.”

“You wish!” Sam scoffed unconvincingly, before grabbing a pillow and throwing the soft projectile weapon at Dean, who unfortunately caught it. “You’re the only one here into that crap, so don’t try to rub your twisted kinks off on me.”

“Yeah, just keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day it’ll actually become true.” Dean winked at him, and it took every bit of Sam’s self-control not to get up from that couch and use the pillow to strangle that horny jerk.

“Flirting again?”

A voice coming from one of the catwalks made both of them look up, and Sam couldn’t help but roll his eyes when he saw Benny grinning down at them like some kid about to break his parents’ most expensive vase.

Dean didn’t seem as bothered by the man’s remark—if anything, he appeared to be enjoying it way too much. “Yeah, you know how it is with Sammy. He’s real hard to seduce, so I’ve gotta keep tryin’,” he said, simply laughing when Sam gave him a dumbfounded look.

“You two just scream sexual tension,” Benny said as he leaned his hands against the railing. “It’s making this whole warehouse tense and musky.”

Dean grinned wickedly. “Maybe I should just hold him down and take what’s mine…”

“Yeah, just get a room and get over with it.”

“Guys!” Sam exclaimed, jumping up from the couch with a red face, his head spinning with utter embarrassment. “I’m literally right here. Can’t you talk about this anywhere else? Or just not talk about it at all? I’d greatly appreciate that.”

“Hey, it ain’t my fault that everyone wants us to fuck,” Dean said casually, even shrugging like he had no shame at all, which, Sam guessed, he probably didn’t. He, however, still possessed a soul, and hearing these two freaks talk so openly about him and Dean doing the horizontal samba made him want to dig his own grave.

Refusing to listen to them any longer, he made some sort of incredulous sound and stomped off to the stairs, going back to his room. He might have looked like some grumpy old man who yells at kids to get off his lawn, but he didn’t particularly care right now, too annoyed with a side of flustered, maybe even slightly appalled by their brazen behavior.

Sam managed to get to his door, his hand wrapping around the handle to twist it, but before he could’ve gotten back to the safety of his room, he heard the fast steps of someone rushing up the stairs, moments before his arm got grabbed.

“Dean, what the—” Sam protested as he got dragged further down the catwalk, his eyes widening in horror as his mind registered where exactly they were going. But before he would have even had a chance at yanking his arm out of the boy’s firm grasp, he was being pushed into the room, his heart and stomach both doing a spontaneous freefall when he heard the telltale click of a door being locked.

Blocking the door, Dean turned around and flashed a broad grin at him. “Finally alone, right?”

“No?” Sam backed away from the boy, starting to get a little bit scared, then frowned when Dean laughed.

“Relax, I’m not going to rape you,” he said with a reassuring smile, then motioned toward the door behind him. “Just wanted to shut Benny up. He’s a cool guy, and I’m pretty sure he wants us to end up together, which is kinda weird but I don’t mind. And while that’s fine with me, his comments are clearly bothering you, so…” He shrugged. “I guess we can lie and tell him we did it.”

Sam did not expect to hear that, so he stared cautiously at the boy for a few seconds, waiting for him to pounce, but when that never happened, he raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. “You’d be willing to do that? And anyway, you…how am I supposed to trust you?”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “Well, we both know I’m not the liar between the two of us. I have never lied to you, Sam, have I?”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Exactly,” the boy said with a nod, then looked at him with a half-smile. “Oh, but don’t get me wrong. I’ll keep my word, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to touch you. No, you have no idea how much I do.” Dean’s eye darkened as he looked Sam up and down, whose body immediately reacted to the boy’s gaze and making his heart work overtime. “The thought of taking you hard, of slamming you up against a wall and just having my way with you turns me on like nothing else. I’d want nothing more than to watch you writhe and scream under me, Sammy, but no matter how much fun that would be, I also don’t want it to be rape. I want you willing, crying from pleasure and not from pain… Well, maybe a little bit of pain.”

Dean chuckled, the sound deep and reaching Sam’s bones, gripping them tight and threatening to tear them out of his body and leave his limbs weak, limp like jelly. He swallowed hard, willing his brain to think of something to say, because the longer he just stood there silently, the more aware he became of the boy’s penetrating gaze on him.

Scratching the back of his head, he cleared his throat and tried not to look painfully awkward as he said, “Alright. As long as you don’t do anything.”

“Yeah…” Dean nodded, the fire leaving his eye for now as he smirked and glanced around the room, before shifting his gaze back at the other. “So anyway, how do you like my room? Pretty cool, am I right?” he asked as he strutted over to a round, dark green bean bag chair on the floor, positioned against the part of the far wall where the brick was replaced by the series of windows present in every bedroom Sam’s been to.

He watched as the boy flopped down into the chair, sinking into its yielding surface with a satisfied groan, before looking around the room. It wasn’t too different from Benny’s. It had a wooden tiled floor with a large, shaggy wine red rug in the middle, a bed on the right that had a black and gray bedding, and several guns—and what he was pretty sure was a katana—mounted on the walls on each side. Dean’s brown wardrobe was standing by the left wall, along with a shelf full of more weapons, of small objects and pictures, and next to that was a mini fridge.

Sam looked at the other, pointing at the fridge. “Seriously?”

Dean grinned. “What? I need something to keep my snacks and beer in,” he said, his grin broadening into something devious as he leaned back in the bag chair and folded his hands behind his head. “Actually, how about you get me one?”

“Get off your ass and get one for yourself,” Sam suggested mockingly, smirking to himself when the boy whined and slumped further down the chair.

“Please, Sammy? Pretty please?” Dean’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as he fake-begged the other, but since Sam was also rather curious what the boy had hidden away in the fridge, he caved in after a moment, sighing and rolling his eyes as he crouched down and opened it.

Disappointingly, Dean did indeed only have bottles of beer in the fridge, along with some leftover pizza and a chocolate pudding that looked like it should have been in the trash, for like weeks. Pulling a face, Sam grabbed a cold bottle and kicked the door shut, tempted to hurl the beer at the boy, but instead just walked over to him and tossed it into his lap.

“Thanks.” Dean grinned up at him, before opening the bottle and taking a large swig from it. Sam hated beer, its taste from when he once tried John’s open can still haunting him to this day, so he couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose as he watched the boy chug down a considerable amount of the thing, before wiping his mouth and placing the bottle on the floor next to the bean bag. “Now come ‘ere,” the boy said suddenly, and since Sam was too focused on hating on the beer, he was kind of caught off guard when Dean leaned forward, grabbed his hands, then pulled him down into his lap.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Sam demanded, looking anywhere but Dean. He was straddling the boy’s lap, this position really goddamn bad for his poor heart, which only began hammering in his chest faster, like it was on some sort of malicious ecstasy, when two strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Smells nice…” Dean mumbled as he nuzzled the other’s neck, freaking sniffing him, and Sam was going to die right there. His hands were trapped between their chests, so he couldn’t even push the boy away even if he wanted to, and he wanted to very much. He needed to, or else his brain was going to malfunction.

“D-Dean, stop it,” he protested weakly and, oh god, he could feel Dean’s erection under him, could feel it poking his own—

Wait, when did Sam get hard?

“Don’t wanna,” the boy stated straightforwardly, placing a series of kisses up the other’s neck, then made Sam squeak like a damn girl when he began sucking on his earlobe. “Just wanna hold you like this for a bit.”

Sam let out a shaky exhale, easing away from him until he could free his hands, then after a long moment of hesitating, he slowly and tentatively snaked them around the boy’s neck and let his body go limp in Dean’s warm embrace.

“Fine…” he whispered, then quickly buried his face in the crook of the other’s neck, clenching his jaw to stop himself from trembling, however he could give up on breathing normally, as his chest was already heaving like he was running out of air. But he couldn’t help it, this being the closest he’s ever been to Dean, with their limbs entangled like that, and it was making his heart want to explode.

The boy’s pleased chuckle sent a fiery chill down his spine and across his whole body, and now Sam was unable to move anymore, too afraid of what would happen if he did, or if he looked at Dean. “God, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispered, stroking Sam’s back with one hand while the other slid up to pet his head lovingly, and before he could have stopped himself or even realized what he was doing, the younger boy hugged him tighter, making a soft whimper as he slowly parted his lips and kissed Dean’s neck.

They both froze at that, Sam quite positive that this time, he was going to have a heart attack. He pulled away so he could press his forehead against the boy’s shoulder while biting down on his pursed lips, letting out yet another small sound when Dean’s fingers curled into his hair, grasping the chestnut locks in a way that didn’t hurt, but was very close.

“I’m really trying here, Sammy,” he groaned, crushing Sam as he pulled him impossibly closer, “but you’re not helping. At all.”

Gulping rather audibly, he carefully moved his hands to the boy’s shoulders as he pushed himself away from Dean, until he was once again gazing into the one craving eye, blown with so much lust that keeping eye contact with him actually cost Sam physical effort.

Needing to change to subject, and quick, he very slowly and cautiously raised a hand to the boy’s cheek, lightly trailing a finger along the part of the scar that wasn’t hidden by the eyepatch. “What happened?” he asked, the words leaving his mouth before he could have thought them through, and he immediately tensed, pretty sure he was treading on dangerous ground with that question. He and his stupid big mouth.

But instead of getting mad, maybe even shoving him off, Dean simply lowered his head and sighed. “Well, I guess since you’ve already seen it…” He gently moved Sam’s hand out of the way, then proceeded to remove the eyepatch from around his head, letting the black fabric fall between them as he looked back at the younger boy. “Not that sexy anymore, huh?”

The sadness underneath Dean’s smile made his heart ache, and he placed both his hands on the boy’s face right away, cupping his cheeks as he held his gaze, refusing to look away. Up this close, Sam could see the scar and the blind eye much better, could see every single detail, from how the skin at his scar was smooth and lighter than the rest, to the black ring that framed the well of gray clouds which used to be the boy’s iris and pupil. And unlike with some blind people, Dean’s eye followed Sam’s every movement, just as focused on his face as the working eyeball, and no matter how much, or how long he looked, he simply couldn’t find a single thing that wasn’t gorgeous about the other’s eyes.

He didn’t know how to explain it to Dean, the words failing him right now, so instead Sam just leaned forward and placed the softest, lightest kiss on the boy’s scarred eyelid when he closed his eyes. “You’re as handsome as ever, Dean,” he said lowly as he pulled back, a bashful smile crossing his face when the other’s eyes widened in astonishment.

Dean opened and closed his mouth, then the surprise melted off his face, giving way to a look of pure happiness, his bright smile making Sam’s heart grow three sizes. “Sammy,” he whispered in awed adoration, before suddenly yanking the other into a kiss that started out hot and fervent, but rapidly turned sweet and unhurried, making Sam shiver and sigh.

He closed his eyes and didn’t even hesitate before returning the kiss, opening his mouth and moving his lips in synch with Dean’s full, and just addicting ones, pretty sure that if he’d end up hooked on something, it wouldn’t be heroin, but those luscious lips. Sam’s quiet moans—because yes, he couldn’t even bother to stop his voice anymore—were muffled by them, and by the boy’s warm tongue, which lapped and played with his lips, before slipping into his mouth and going to tease Sam’s own tongue. Curious, and about a hundred other things, he deepened the kiss and tried using his tongue as well, mirroring Dean’s actions and licking into the boy’s mouth. The taste of beer should have bothered him, and maybe it did, but only a little bit, Sam too far gone to pay attention to such trivial things while he could be enjoying Dean’s kisses instead.

When they finally parted, both of them heaving slightly, he blinked at the boy dazedly, licking his already wet lips and kinda feeling like kissing some more, like that’s what they should do all day. But then he regained his senses, his whole body overheating from embarrassment and—oh wow—arousal, and he just stared at Dean until the boy flashed him a warm smile, Sam pretty sure that the sun began shining that much brighter just from that smile.

“I don’t like talking about this,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence and instantly snapping him out of his daze, “but I want to tell you.” Dean looked deep in his eyes, into his very soul, his features softening and suddenly, the boy looked so broken it made the other want to hug him forever. “I want you to know.”

Sam nodded, couldn’t do anything else aside from nodding, and held the boy’s gaze, signaling that he had his undying attention.

After a sigh and a brisk, empty smile, Dean began. “I used to be normal, like you. Well, not exactly like you, but you know what I mean. I had a family, parents and friends, had a pretty decent life, until a few years ago… I was just a year older than you, fifteen, when the men came in our home and beat my mom up, before taking her,” he said, his jaw a hard line as he swallowed back forgotten feelings. “I tried protecting her, tried saving her, but I was outnumbered and outgunned. And when I tried to get dad to help, you know what he said? ‘That bitch had it coming’. Turns out, it was him who hired these people to take my mother. My own father paid smugglers to sell her, to sell his own wife just for a bit of money, and so he could get rid of her. Apparently she’s been cheating on him, and that was my dad’s way of payback.” Dean scoffed, venom and contempt dripping from his voice, while Sam just sat there, his heart bleeding.

“Dean…” He tried, but the boy shook his head.

“The smugglers were these guys, obviously,” he continued, now unable to look at the other boy. “They came back some days later, found me on the streets because I refused to stay in that house, with my fucked up father. I tried to beat him up when I found out what really happened, but he just belted me and told me to behave, so I left. I’ve never seen him like this and I was so shocked and angry, betrayed, that when Nick found me and gave me a knife, told me to use it on my dad if I wanted revenge, I agreed without thinking. First thing I did with it, though, was try to sink it in his heart, however I quickly realized that I could give up on that plan, especially after he had Crowley slap the shit out of me.”

“I hate Crowley,” Sam spat.

Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Who doesn’t?”

“Anyway, they took me back home, and I… Me and dad had a fight. A big one. I thought I was doing well, scaring him with the knife and all, because no matter how mad I was at him I didn’t actually want to kill him. But then he somehow took a hold of the knife, broke my leg, then did this to me.” He pointed at the scar on his face. “He didn’t seem to care, and the pain and everything else made me so angry, I didn’t even register my broken leg as I stood up on the other and wrestled the knife out of his hands, before burying it in his eye,” Dean said with a small smirk on his lips. “Eye for an eye, I guess. I used the knife to stab him over and over after that, in his chest and neck, until the guys had to pull me off him. Things were a blur after that, I got a cast for my leg and stayed in the warehouse’s medical room for days, the only reason they didn’t leave me next to my father’s corpse being the fact that we made a deal. Me working for them in return of my mother’s freedom.”

“So your mom’s safe, then?” Sam asked hopefully, and Dean nodded.

“I get updates every month. I can’t meet her—to her, both I and my dad died in a car crash. But I got to watch her from a distance once, and sometimes I even drive to her house to check up on her myself, so I know she’s well and safe, with a new family,” he said with downcast eyes. “I’m happy for her. She deserves better than me, anyway.”

“Dean,” he said sharply, fixing the boy with a serious look when he raised his eyes, “you joined these guys to save her. No matter how you look at it, that makes you a good person.”

The boy laughed dryly. “I murdered my father in a fit of rage, I watched your father die, and I’ve killed many people along the years, Sam. How could that, in any way, be considered as good?”

“Nobody’s perfect…” Sam muttered. “If you only look at the bad you’ve done, then yeah, you’re a cold-blooded murderer and sort of a psychopath with anger issues. But I know that you have a better side, no matter how hard you try to hide it. And that, coming from the person who totally hated your guts a few weeks ago, should at least mean something.”

Dean lowered his eyes again, touching the eyepatch in his lap, before looking back at Sam. “I guess… I don’t know,” he said and shook his head, a pathetic smirk the mere shadow of his usual cocky ones’ crossing his face. “Do you really accept me like that? I’m serious when I say that I’m not a good person, Sam. You might not hate me now, but you know that I have more defects than virtues, know that my possessiveness is borderline insane, know that I don’t value human life at all. I’m the definition of a cruel asshole.”

Sam watched him silently for as long as he could, wondering how to answer to that, then let out a deep sigh and chose to just go with the truth. “Well, uh…yeah, you are. I won’t sugarcoat it, you’re a total jerk. But that also makes me a selfish bastard, because I don’t really care. I did, while you were hurting me and while all I felt toward you was some sort of confused rage. You were pissing me off because of many things, though after a while some of that anger wasn’t really because of you. I think I was frustrated with myself, with my reactions and feelings, which…it wasn’t like I couldn’t figure them out, I just didn’t want to. I was scared of what I’d find. And now that I know, all your flaws that should really annoy me, that would send any decent human being crawling on the wall, they aren’t that big of a deal to me anymore. You’re unusual and just plain annoying most of the times, that’s true, oh I won’t lie about that, but those moments of yours don’t make me angry or anything,” he said, taking a breath after that monologue, then flashed a sheepish grin at the other. “But you know what they say—love is blind.”

“Love?” Dean raised his eyebrows, a broad and pretty twisted grin spreading across his face, and Sam’s eyes widened in shock, unable to believe he just let those words spill past his lips. He seriously needed to start thinking about what he said before actually saying them.

Flustered, but seeing the eager look in Dean’s eyes—at least the one that was working—Sam averted his own eyes and silently murmured, “Yeah, I…y-yeah.”

He pressed his lips together nervously when he heard the boy’s laugh, then was blushing even more intensely, which shouldn’t have been physically possible, when Dean placed a tender kiss on his cheek. Hesitantly, Sam slowly looked back at him, saw him smiling, then tensed and remained immobile as he lightly trailed a thumb across the other’s lower lip. “I love you, too,” Dean whispered, and just like that, a freaking wildfire broke out in Sam’s body, the kind that no amount of inner mantra or breathing exercises could extinguish, ever.

“Dean,” he sighed happily, because yes, that love confession made his chest want to compress and then burst with joy, the feeling so thick and dense and pushing at every corner of his insides that Sam needed to do something, or else he might seriously explode or something.

So he grabbed the other’s face and kissed him, desperately while pouring all of his feelings into it, and he felt like sobbing when he felt Dean smiling against his lips and kissing him back. The boy tangled his fingers in Sam’s hair and pulled his head closer, quickly deepening the kiss and turning it ferocious in an instant, with claiming bites and intrusive licks, the kiss sloppy and hard and just goddamn perfect. Drowning in Dean’s mouth, he nearly didn’t notice the boy’s hands as they began unbuttoning his shirt, his pleased and lazy moans rising an octave as he felt the cold air against his skin when his shirt just up and disappeared.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Dean breathed as he leaned back and ran his hands up and down Sam’s sides, while watching the younger boy’s heaving chest with intense eyes. “So beautiful, and all mine.”

Yep, Dean was definitely going to be the death of him; Sam’s heart was totally going to go off and just stop if this were to continue.

“Di-Didn’t you say that you weren’t going to touch me…?” he asked, needing the boy’s piercing gaze away from his body at least for a moment.

Dean smirked, holding Sam’s waist with one hand while splaying the other across his flushed chest. “Yeah, I did,” the boy said, before giving him a hopeful, questioning look. “But now, don’t you want me to?”

They were both so obviously horny and hard in their pants, and Sam would have been a dirty little liar if said he didn’t want Dean’s hands all over him, even if that thought frightened him a tiny bit. But his fear came more from nervousness than actual terror, so he waved goodbye to the last remains of his resolve, really just wanting to make love to his boyfriend now, and slowly leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the other’s as he whispered in a shy, quiet voice, “I want to…please.”

Chuckling low in his throat, the boy placed a quick kiss on the other’s mouth before shedding his leather jacket and shirt, then was immediately back to caressing his skin, setting every inch of it on fire, especially when that tease began thumbing his nipples. Gasping, Sam looked down at Dean’s hands with wide eyes, then was screwing them shut and tilting his head away as the hardened buds were pinched by determined fingers, which quickly began playing with them until he was a whimpering mess. He arched into the intoxicating touches, his own hands gripping the other’s waist so hard he was probably going to bruise him, the thought of leaving his own marks on Dean making him shiver.

“So responsive,” Dean purred in appreciation, removing his hand from one of Sam’s nipples and continuing the sweet torture with his mouth instead, making the younger boy cry out and buck his hips. He whined miserably, letting his head fall back as he grabbed a hold of the boy’s shoulders, the feeling of Dean’s lips rubbing against his flesh, his teeth as they caught the pert nipple between them and tugged at it, rolled it, then his tongue flicking the abused skin, had Sam moaning in need and leaning into every single one of his touches.

“Dean, Dean…” he panted, or more like freaking whined like some puppy in heat, capturing the boy’s lips when he pulled away and kissing him hopelessly, only making more pitiful sounds when Dean bit his tongue playfully, then made some not-so-playful marks all over his neck and shoulders, sucking and licking and biting until Sam was once again covered in hickeys, some of them even bleeding.

“Look at you,” Dean said as he marveled at his work, licking his lips hungrily, “all covered in my marks. Gonna keep makin’ new ones as soon as they fade, Sammy, next time I’ll take my sweet time and make sure your skin’s full of ‘em, from head to toe.”

Sam nodded, just swallowed and nodded, wanting to belong to Dean even if some of the bites that were bleeding hurt a bit. Not giving a rat’s ass about the pain, though, he bit down on his bottom lip as he ran his hands up the boy’s taut abs, his fingers dipping into the delicious curves, Sam pausing as his hands reached the other’s chest. He then forced himself to lean in and lick Dean’s collarbone, earning a pleased groan from him, which made the embarrassed boy smile and keep going. He nibbled and kissed at the bone, licked into the hollow of the other’s throat with the tip of his tongue, then trailed it all the way along his throat until he got to his chin, where Sam pecked the skin there before pulling back and flashing a small, rather sly grin at him.

“God, Sammy, you little…” Dean panted, finishing his sentence with a growl as he grabbed the other’s pants and tugged at it, fumbling with the button and the zipper before pulling it down, the younger boy weakly rising on his knees to help with taking his pants off. He watched as the denim got thrown across the room like Dean had a personal vendetta against it, then felt like following it when he looked back and saw the boy grinning at him like a famished wolf, his one eye—when did he even put the eyepatch back on?—roaming his body and darkening when it stopped at Sam’s clothed erection. “All eager, aren’t we?”

He didn’t dare look down, already knowing without needing to see how painfully hard he was, but that didn’t mean Dean could be a tease about it and point it out. Wanting payback, Sam pursed his lip and glanced at the tent in the boy’s pants, before reluctantly raising his gaze. “You’re one to speak,” he mumbled, holding his breath as he bucked his hips, grinding down against the other’s bulge and drawing a mix of a growl and a groan out of the boy.

“Fuck,” Dean groaned and stilled Sam’s movements by grabbing a hold of his hip, then moved his free hand to the other’s clothed length and began palming it, giving it firm strokes and rubs until Sam was rolling his hips helplessly, digging his fingertips into the boy’s broad shoulders while moan after moan slipped past his lips. “Yeah, baby boy, that’s it. You know you want it bad,” he purred, a carnal grin splitting his face as he squeezed the warm, hard flesh under his hand, and Sam threw his head back, letting out another loud moan.

“Dean, G-God Dean, please…” He looked at the boy with a new version of puppy eyes, much more lewd than its predecessor, but no matter how many shameless sounds escaped from him, Sam couldn’t stop bucking into every stroke, every touch of Dean’s hand, already waving goodbye to his self-control and dignity like minutes ago.

Dean chuckled—a hoarse and lustful sound—and rubbed the wet patch where Sam’s pre-come has started staining the fabric with his thumb, gaining a rather slutty whimper from the younger boy. “Hmm? Please what, Sammy? Please fuck me?” he asked challengingly, the feral grin never leaving his face as he teased the other. “You’ve gotta tell me, or I won’t know.”

“Y-You jerk,” Sam gasped, cursing the boy in his head for being such a pervert, though honestly, he was kind of enjoying it in some really fucked up way. And it was hard, the words stuck in his throat and unwilling to leave, but he still managed to force them out after a while, saying them with a horrible blush on his face. “Yes, just…do it, please. Dean, I wanna feel you, all of…you.”

“You won’t hear me sayin’ no to that,” Dean assured, then hauled Sam into a quick, brutal kiss before tugging his underwear off and sending it flying to where his pants were somewhere, then wrapped a hand around his shaft, giving it a light squeeze. “So warm, baby. So hot and hard for me, only me.”

“Yes, you, yes,” he babbled, collapsing against the boy’s chest and just giving in completely, his mind going blank as Dean’s fingers stroked his throbbing flesh, everything just feeling so damn good and fantastic and overwhelming and—

He gasped and stopped everything he was doing, eyes going plate-sized as Dean’s other hand left his hip and moved to more forbidden territories, the feel of him groping Sam’s ass suddenly making the younger boy remember just what gay sex was all about. Face red as if a lobster and a tomato had an illegitimate child, he shied away from Dean’s hand and pressed close against him, totally not trembling like the virgin he was.

“Hey,” he heard the boy whisper, felt him caress the small of his back while, by the way, his other hand was still on Sam’s dick. “Hey, it’s okay. This is your first time, so I’ll be gentle, I promise you. You can trust me Sammy, I swear I won’t let it hurt.”

He made a nervous sound, closing his eyes and letting Dean’s smell fill his nose as he inhaled a deep breath. He knew he was acting like some scaredy-cat, knew it was pathetic, but he just couldn’t help it, because things just shouldn’t enter that way. “Have you…done something like this before?” Sam asked a bit curiously, has been wanting to know for quite a while now.

Dean stroked soothing circles in his back as he answered. “If by ‘this’ you mean gay sex, then no, never. This is my first time in that area, too, but I did some research, so I know exactly what to do to make it as painless as possible,” he said, then after a short pause, continued. “But I’ve had sex before, with girls. They were just casual fucks, no strings attached, always ended after one night. They’re nothing like you. I never felt anything toward them, much less loved them like I love you, Sam.”

Now he was trembling for sure, and he placed a fond kiss on Dean’s shoulder before easing away and gazing up at him with his bottom lip between his teeth, feeling slightly disappointed but also understanding that he wasn’t the boy’s first. That didn’t matter, really, as long as Dean loved him, which he did, and seeing the devotion in his gleaming eye had Sam nodding with a timid smile. “M’kay,” he muttered. “If you say you know what you’re doing, then I trust you. Make me feel good…”

He was ashamed of his own words, but seeing the eager and rather gleeful smirk on Dean’s face was so worth it. “Oh, don’t worry,” the boy drawled lecherously, biting down his lower lip in anticipation. “I will.”

Dean removed his hands from Sam and moved them to his pants, tugging it and his underwear down to around his mid-thighs, then left them there as he gave a few slow strokes to his own erection, which had the younger boy gaping in awe.

Okay, no, he was going to get torn apart if that thing was to enter him.

Dean’s cock was thick, possessing a size that could never fit in something as tiny as Sam’s goddamn asshole. It seemed hard as a rock, and had veins bulging here and there under the surely blazing skin, Sam unconsciously licking his lips when the boy used his thumb to smear the shiny pre-come gathered at his slit across the head of his raging erection.

“See somethin’ you like?” Dean flashed a cocky grin at the other, making him hurriedly rip his gaze away from the boy’s dick, unable to believe he was seriously just openly staring at it. Thank god he didn’t start drooling or something, for fuck’s sake.

“I, um…” He tried saying something intelligent, but nothing of that sort came out of his mouth, so he just decided to shut up instead.

Dean’s grin widened, giving him a vicious pirate look. “You can touch, you know. Actually, it’s encouraged,” he said with a suggestive wink before glancing down, and Sam made the mistake of following the boy’s gaze. He had removed his hand from his cock, which was now standing proudly between his legs, the fat tip bumping against Dean’s stomach each time he inhaled and smudging wet fluid on the skin there. Also, another image Sam won’t be able to ever erase from his brain, was how close their erections were, only inches separating them from touching, from rubbing together, his own cock giving an interested twitch at the mere thought of it.

Letting out an uneven exhale, Sam very slowly crawled closer and let his downstairs brain take over, too horny to think rationally anymore. He rolled his hips forward, both of them groaning when their cocks slid against each other, and then he couldn’t stop himself, reached out a trembling hand to wrap as much of it as he could around both of their pulsing flesh, already whimpering at the hot feeling of Dean, before beginning to move his hand up and down.

“Fuck yeah, Sammy,” the boy groaned hoarsely, putting his hands on Sam’s thighs as he thrust up into the other’s hand, Sam soon needing to use both hands to keep their cocks in place as he also bucked forward, grinding and rubbing fervently against Dean’s length while fucking into his own hands.

His head fell forward, sweaty strand of hair that weren’t sticking to his skin swaying wildly around his head as he moved, thrusting desperately, then was suddenly whining when Dean grabbed his wrists and yanked his hands away from their leaking erections. The boy, already panting heavily, wrapped an arm around Sam and pulled him as close as possible, pressing their chests flush together, and used his other hand to free his cock from where it was trapped between their bodies, letting it rest against one of the younger boy’s ass cheeks and making him shiver like crazy.

“Can’t finish just yet,” Dean purred deeply, placing soft kisses along Sam’s neck while caressing his ass. “Still have the main course to indulge in.”

He moaned as an answer, trying to discreetly hump the boy’s abdomen, then made a disappointed little whimper when he got pushed away slightly. Dean shook his head with a light—but very damn nasty—chuckle and stroked the other’s bony hip with a thumb, then raised his hand from Sam’s ass to his lips, pressing his middle and ring fingers against them.

“This should be done with lube, but honestly, I’m too lazy to get up,” he admitted with a smirk. “So I need you to wet my fingers as much as you can, so that I’ll be able to stretch you open more easily.”

“Stretch me…with your fingers…” Sam breathed, his head spinning. He would not only have Dean’s cock up his ass, but first he’d have to get used to his fingers. Great, Sam was completely a hundred percent okay with this situation, couldn’t find anything wrong with it, no.

“Yep,” Dean said, tapping a finger against the other’s bottom lip. “But it’ll be fine, okay? It will be, so hurry up, because I really wanna be inside you already.”

“You should be a bit more patient,” he mumbled against the boy’s fingers, before giving them a tentative lick. They tasted salty.

“I am patient. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me not to just pick you up, sprawl you across my bed, and fuck you into the mattress?” Dean growled huskily, then when Sam opened his mouth to say something, instead of words all that came past his lips was a muffled mix of a gasp and a choke, as the boy had freaking shoved his fingers in his mouth. He glared weakly at the other, gnawing at the digits, before sliding his tongue alongside them and beginning to wet and coat them with his saliva, while trying not to think how embarrassing what he was doing was.

That, however, wasn’t that easy with Dean spouting crap straight out of some sort of porno.

“Mmm yeah, that’s a good boy,” he praised encouragingly, running his tongue along his lips while watching as Sam licked and sucked on his fingers. “That’s it baby, harder, take my fingers like they’re my cock. You know you want to, want me to fuck your sweet little mouth with these fingers, just like how you tried to do with mine when I had you in my mouth.”

Sam moaned around the boy’s fingers, the words both flustering but oh so turning him on in some sick way, and he just knew he was going to Hell after this, if such a place even existed. He took a hold of Dean’s wrist with both of his hands and forced the fingers further into his mouth, until he was gagging, but fought his reflexes as much as he could and kept sucking, using his tongue to play with the digits, his blush spreading not only to his ears but also probably to his goddamn toes as he locked eyes with the boy and watched him while giving some weird blowjob to his fingers. Dean groaned at the sight, moving his fingers inside Sam’s mouth like that one time in the van, visibly enjoying each and every obscene sound that made.

When he couldn’t take the rich and heavy taste in his mouth anymore, along with the wet sounds filling the room, Sam leaned away and pulled the boy’s fingers out of his mouth, a thick string of saliva connecting his lips to the digits before snapping and landing coolly on his chin, and at this point, he was quite certain that his blush wasn’t even visible anymore, his face had to be so red.

Dean turned his hand in the light spilling into the room through the windows, watching as the saliva glistened on his fingers and just successfully making Sam feel even worse. He then gazed at the younger boy and gave him a sultry look, before slowly moving his hand behind the other, sliding the back of his thumb down the cleft of his ass, and Sam couldn’t help but jump a little when he felt a wet finger circling his hole, tensing a little.

“Shh,” Dean cooed, gently and ever so slowly rubbing the other’s tight hole, and leaned forward to place a reassuring kiss on his lips. “Just take deep breaths and relax.”

Gripping the boy’s shoulders, Sam nodded jerkily and took in a long, shaky inhale as he felt a finger poking and stroking the ring of muscle, slowly slumping against Dean and raising his ass to give the prodding fingers more access. Being touched over there couldn’t have possibly been right, and while it did feel alien and freaking embarrassing as all hell, he couldn’t stop the soft whimpers and quiet moans that left his mouth as Dean rubbed harder and harder, until one of his fingers pressed down on Sam’s small, quivering hole, and suddenly, the younger boy’s whole body turned rigid, his muscles stiffening as he felt a fingertip dip in and push inside him.

He made a small, almost wounded sound, and tightened his hold on Dean, pressing his forehead against the crook of the other’s neck when the boy caressed his side. “Feels weird,” he mumbled, it really feeling unusual and too much, as if something that didn’t belong was trying to force its way in, and the finger wasn’t even all the way inside him.

“I know, baby, but it’ll get better,” Dean assured, mouthing the words against Sam’s head before kissing it, and he gradually slackened his muscles, loosening his hold on the boy as he sighed silently.

“Okay…” he whispered, before squeezing his eyes shut and willing his body to take it, to chill the fuck out and let the finger in.

The wet digit took its sweet time to slide in as much as it could, and Sam groaned lowly as it began moving in and out of him, his hole still too damn tight and his skin dragging each time the finger pulled out, then went back in. It wasn’t good at all, there was definitely some pain there, no matter how dull, but he spread his legs further and forced air into his lungs, made himself take deep breaths just as Dean said, and after a few minutes, the uncomfortable feeling lessened. However just when it did, just as Sam was starting to get used to it, the boy added the second finger, the way it painfully forced itself inside him making the other whine.

Dean began twisting and curling his fingers in him, stroking the narrow walls of his inside until Sam’s fluttering hole loosened enough so the boy could stretch him further, moving the digits in a scissoring motion, spreading them as far apart as they could go whenever his fingertips reached Sam’s puckering hole. “That’s it, you’re doing so well. So good, Sammy, so fucking tight. I can feel your pulse against my fingers, fuck,” he purred, voice raspy and somewhat breathy. “Come on, open up for me. Be a good boy and let it in.”

And Sam did, or at least he tried. He made tiny moans and some hissing sounds while Dean fingered him, the stretch and burn of his fingers inside him sending a shudder through his body, this probably the strangest feeling he has ever experienced in his life. He tried not focusing on the smoldering, piercing and prodding pain, but that wasn’t so easy, at least not with the way the slow move of the fingers kept hurting, when they got pushed inside uncomfortable, but not as painful as the burning drag when they got pulled out. The pain and discomfort was momentarily overshadowed by something else, though, as a fingertip brushed against a spot inside Sam, it making him arch his back and let out a very much pleased moan this time.

“What…?” He looked up at the other dazedly, blinking in slight shock and whimpering when Dean curled his fingers.

“Found your sweet spot,” the boy explained with a grin, before going back to stretching him nice and thoroughly.

Sam wasn’t sure how long it was before Dean finally withdrew his fingers, but he knew that by the time the digits disappeared from his hole, he’s been totally rendered into a moaning little mess. He nuzzled the boy’s neck, making some rather lewd sounds when his ass got groped and massaged, Sam pushing back into the touch and ignoring the little sound in the back of his head that was calling him names. Yeah, he was being kinda slutty, but it really wasn’t his fault that Dean was apparently some sort of sex God, created to please.

His breath hitched as he felt the other’s warm length against his ass, then he hunched forward, letting out a pathetic little moan as Dean spread his cheeks and began sliding his throbbing erection between the plump flesh.

“D-Dean, stop being…a tease,” Sam panted feebly, his legs shaking from both excitement and the anticipation of what was to come, then began nibbling at the boy’s jaw as a form of payback and encouragement to do something already.

Growling low in his throat, the low rumble sending a violent shiver down the other’s spine, Dean grabbed a hold of Sam’s hair and crushed their lips into a bruising kiss, before pulling back and shooting him a lecherous and incredibly nasty look. “Yeah, can’t take it anymore, either. Gonna fuck you so good now, Sammy, make you mine completely.”

“’M already yours…” Sam mumbled, a coy smile curling his lips.

Dean grinned dangerously, licking his lips. “Damn right you are,” he purred, then slapped Sam’s ass, making the younger boy gasp. “But that won’t stop me from claiming you over and over again.” He then tightened his grip on the other’s ass, before using his free hand to guide the tip of his cock over to the pulsing hole, Sam biting down on his bottom lip as he felt it nudge his entrance. “This might hurt a bit,” Dean warned, watching him intently, “but not for long.”

Sam nodded, swallowing nervously and closing his eyes, instantly going to relax, however that quickly became impossible when the head of the boy’s cock began pushing in, his face screwing up as he focused on anything but the searing pain.

“You okay?” Dean asked, his voice strained from the effort it took him not to just fuck Sam right away, which the younger boy could appreciate because no, this freaking hurt.

“Just gimme a minute,” he breathed, willing his muscles to relax and slowly, very slowly take more of the other’s cock inside, making Dean groan.

“Sammy, you’re so tight,” he panted, keeping Sam’s hips in an iron grip, only waiting a moment before he started moving, slowly fucking up into the other and driving his thick cock deeper inside with each, short thrust of his hips. “Fuck, fuck, you feel so good already,” Dean groaned, while Sam tried real hard not to start screaming.

“Dean!” he mewled, mouth hanging open and head lowered, eyes shut tight as his ass was getting ripped open, and he even considered just yanking Dean’s cock out from inside him, because this was too much. Then the boy snapped his hips up one last time before stopping for a bit, impaling Sam on his cock as he buried it balls deep and all the way in, and Sam was making some very interesting sounds.

Running his fingers through the other’s shaggy, sweaty hair, Dean pulled him in to kiss his forehead, then nuzzled his cheek. “Sorry, got a little ahead of myself. I’m gonna wait as long as you want me to now, okay?” he said, showering Sam’s entire face with tender kisses.

Humming in delight, focusing on the kisses instead of the pain in his ass, Sam managed to relax after a while, gradually getting used to the overwhelming feeling of fullness. When he was positive he wasn’t going to start wincing if Dean moved, he turned his head to place a chaste kiss on the boy’s wonderful lips, then smiled. “I’m fine now, so…” His voice trailed off, and instead of finishing his sentence, Sam wiggled his ass slightly and, hopefully, seductively.

The boy grinned, a soft chuckle leaving him as he planted his hands on the other’s slender waist, then moved them down to his hips, digging his fingers into the skin. “Yeah,” Dean said, then rolled his hips before winking at Sam. “Try not to scream too loudly.”

He rolled his eyes, about to say something witty, but then found himself gasping instead as flaming currents of electricity spread across his body like spider webs, his eyes going wide when Dean began thrusting up and into him. Sam couldn’t stop the sounds, suddenly couldn’t do anything aside from moaning between miserable little gasps, because he was getting fucked by Dean and it was the strangest, and best goddamn feeling ever. The boy sank his blunt nails into the other’s skin as he gripped him, lifting him up in rhythm with his slow, dragged-out thrusts, before slamming him back down, making Sam throw his head back and let out a high pitched moan. Dean didn’t wait long before he picked up his pace, any and all coherent words just leaving Sam when the boy began pounding his ass hard, faster than before, fucking into him wildly while growling like the animal he was.

“Jesus _fuck_ , Sammy!” Dean groaned, a snarl twisting his lips as he frowned and snapped his hips up in a steady but fast, merciless pace. “Shit, so fucking good. Oh baby, that’s it, c’mon, bounce on my cock.”

The dirty words only made Sam louder, his very last string of dignity snapping and disappearing from existence as he began moving, fucking himself on Dean’s cock while moaning like some whore. “Oh my god, Dean! Please, please more, oh Dean!” he keened wantonly, dizzy with the smell of sex and sweat in the air, the wet and squelching sounds of the boy’s dick slipping in and out of his slick, gaping hole, and that of Dean’s hips and balls slapping against his ass with each brutal thrust only turning Sam on more.

“Fuck,” the boy growled, moving his hands down and grasping Sam’s ass, before spreading his cheeks, digging his fingertips in his flesh, then suddenly turned the pace from vicious to freaking cruel.

Sam cried out, he was screaming now, repeating Dean’s name over and over when he wasn’t just mewling obscenely and making loud, dirty moans. He tried pushing himself down, moving in time with the boy’s thrusts, clenching his hole on purpose and milking Dean’s long, incredible cock, but then he couldn’t even do that after a while, his body getting rocked too wildly by the boy’s fervent, frantic thrusts and making it impossible for Sam to move anymore. And he didn’t think he could get louder and naughtier, but that is exactly what happened when Dean began hitting his prostate more times than not, angling his thrust just right, and damn near killing Sam. It was all so good and so much—Dean slamming into him like there was no tomorrow, fucking him roughly and like a savage while cursing and worshipping him; Sam letting his head fall back and mouth hang open, some of the nastiest pleas and sounds spilling past his lips and turning the sex hotter, his trembling frame rushed by an onslaught of shockwaves, all pleasure and only a slight pain, but the pain was good too.

He has never felt so full in his life, so stretched open and filled with something so incredible, Dean’s red-hot cock as if made to fit in his ass, molded just for him. Nothing has ever felt so right before, and Sam was bursting, melting and becoming delirious, the ease the boy slid in and out of him simply magical. His own cock was leaking, bouncing up and down and bumping against his and Dean’s stomach with each thrust, and he was so ready to come even though he hasn’t even touched himself.

It wasn’t long before none of them could form words anymore, only incoherent sounds and half-babbled groans of each other’s names, and when Dean hit his prostate dead on with an especially fierce thrust, that did it for Sam. His orgasm slammed through him out of nowhere, taking him by surprise and making him gasp, the sudden muscle spasms tensing his whole body as he came on Dean’s stomach with a pitiful moan.

He didn’t have time to enjoy the afterglow for too long, Sam shivering and mewling again when the boy’s thrusts became erratic, before he bit down on the younger one’s shoulder, letting out a muffled, feral growl as he emptying his load in the other, coming hard and deep inside. Sam could feel the warm come filling him, felt it inside, then around his hole when it began slowly seeping out of him, but no matter how nasty that was, he couldn’t really give a crap right now, too spent and fucked-out to care.

Lying against Dean’s chest, he closed his eyes, purring softly and enjoying the boy’s warm embrace when he hugged him close. They stayed like that for a long while, panting and blissed-out, catching their breath while cuddling. Dean nuzzled his head from time to time, humming and caressing the other’s skin with the pad of his thumbs, and Sam kept making quiet appreciative sounds, listening to the boy’s pulse where his ear was pressed against the sweaty flesh, while his own racing heartbeat was slowly going back to normal.

Dean took a deep breath after a long while of comfortable silence, trailing his fingers down the other’s spine and making him shiver. “How did you like that?” he asked, and Sam knew that the boy was grinning even before he raised his head and saw it for himself.

He sighed contently, flashing a sweet smile at Dean before answering, “Much better than I’ve expected…”

“Oh yeah?” The boy wiggled his eyebrows, and Sam laughed, which made the other’s cock—still inside him—twitch, causing a chain reaction that had both of them moaning.

Sam licked his dark, slightly bruised lips and gave his hips a tentative roll, smirking when Dean cursed. “Mhm, very good.”

“Little minx,” he groaned, grabbing the other’s waist and lifting him until Dean’s softening cock slipped out of his hole, letting the rest of his come leak out and immediately making Sam blush like crazy. Then his face was boiling even more when he felt the boy’s finger as it gathered up some of his own load, then raised his come-coated finger to Sam’s lips, flashing him a mischievous grin. “Wanna taste?”

He swallowed, chewing his lips as he glanced from the fingers to Dean, his eyes widening slightly at the offer. “You’re sick,” he mumbled, but then so was he, because he couldn’t deny his curiosity, kind of excited to know how the boy’s come tastes like, and just how fucked up was that?

“Come on,” Dean purred bewitchingly, rubbing his come between his fingers and playing with it, which should have been such a disgusting sight, but it just made Sam strangely hungry.

“You’re a horrible influence, I hope you know that…” Sam muttered, then before he could’ve changed his mind, he flicked his tongue out and used the tip to taste the salty-sweet come on the boy’s fingers, then needed more, so he began lapping it up like a good puppy. Also, thinking about himself as a puppy was wrong, and wow, Sam could barely believe his own thoughts. Bad brain, bad.

Dean let out a satisfied chuckle, licking his lips as he watched Sam. “I’m glad I am,” he said with a grin, which turned into a small smirk when the other was done licking. “You’re sure you’re okay, though, right?”

Sam scowled. “Yeah, I’m sure. Why?”

“Well, I’m pretty big,” the boy said with a wink. “And this was your very first time, in every way.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam flashed a thin smile at him. “I’m fine, don’t worry. You didn’t _break_ me or anything. And anyway, I know something that’s much bigger than…you know.”

“You do?” Dean narrowed his eye, and the younger boy smirked.

“Your ego,” he stated, laughing when the boy gave him his own version of bitchface.

“Well, it wasn’t my ego that you were riding, was it?” he scoffed, and now it was his turn to smirk.

Sam flushed a bright red as he remembered the past few minutes, before averting his eyes. “I wasn’t…”

“Oh no?” Dean chuckled wickedly, and Sam knew that he should’ve just stayed quiet, should’ve let the boy have his fun. “So you also weren’t moaning like some cheap slut while I was fucking you, didn’t love my cock up your ass so much that you came untouched?”

“Sh-Shut up,” he muttered, hugging himself and shivering as he felt Dean’s come cooling on his skin. “No need to be an ass about it.”

“I just want you to admit it,” Dean said, smiling at him innocently. “Just say it, Sammy. Say—”

Fed up with the boy’s teasing, Sam fixed him with a weak, totally embarrassed glare, and cut him off. “Fine! I loved it, loved every second while you were fucking me, this was the best feeling ever, and I enjoyed the feel of your…cock inside me,” he rambled, each word stabbing his manliness like a sharp dagger. “Happy now?”

Dean blinked. “I actually wanted to say ‘Say that you liked it’, but yep, that was much better,” he said smugly, and Sam wanted the ground to split open and swallow him up, like yesterday. Noticing his suffering, the boy let out a light laugh and placed a quick kiss on the other’s nose, before smiling and saying, “I did too, you know. Best I ever had…”

Wondering if Dean was secretly planning on making Sam faint from a weird mix of embarrassment and happiness, he kept his gaze on the floor until he was positive he wasn’t going to start sobbing or something equally pathetic, before looking back at the boy, his heart swelling and then bailing on him as he bumped his nose against the other’s. “Me too,” he whispered, smiling when he saw the look of adoration in Dean’s eye.

The boy shook his head, grinning happily. “You’re way too adorable,” he said, then gently nipped at the tip of Sam’s nose, his grin widening when he saw the look on the other’s face. “My sweet Sammy…”

He smiled shyly, pretty sure that one day Dean was going to be the death of him, then lowered his gaze and froze. The boy’s stomach was covered with Sam’s come, his own flaccid penis resting against the tan skin there, and that sight had him making a weird whimpery sound.

“Wanna take a shower?” Dean asked suggestively, but any more of the boy touching him would probably result in Sam’s heart failing, so he quickly shook his head and climbed out of the other’s lap, looking for his clothes that Dean had successfully managed to spirit away or something.

They both got dressed, Sam pulling a face when he pulled his underwear on his come coated ass, it making him consider that shower after all. In the end he decided to take one in his room, alone, but before leaving Dean’s, he stopped at the door and looked back.

“Um, does this mean we’re…” he began, but wasn’t quite sure how to finish, starting to fidget as Dean looked at him from where he was sitting on the bed.

The boy smirked and nodded. “Lovers, yeah.” He then frowned. “Does that bother you?”

“What, no!” Sam answered immediately and maybe a little too quickly, because Dean was grinning now, standing up from the bed and swaggering over to him like someone about to say something really smart.

Sam pressed his back into the door when the boy stopped in front of him. “Told you I’d take all of your firsts,” he said, taking the other’s hand. “And now you’re forever mine, Sam.”

Dean gave his hand a light squeeze, and Sam couldn’t help but smile, looking up at the boy with bright eyes. “I guess I am, huh?”

Nodding, Dean leaned down and kissed him, immediately going to lick into his mouth as soon as Sam parted his lips, the kiss sensual and sweet, and it was all he could do not to start giggling like an idiot when the boy smiled and whispered against his lips, “Forever and a day…”

And when he was finally back in his own room, Sam had to smile too, because he suddenly realized that this had to be it.

What he was feeling, was true happiness.

 


	14. Why?

 

Sam was enjoying life more and more, which was something, considering just where he was.

He still stayed in his room for the most part, however he wasn’t always alone. Dean joined him from time to time, though aside from kissing and lazing around in the bed, they didn’t go further, mainly because Sam’s ass was still kinda sore. Their relationship—he still couldn’t believe that Dean was his boyfriend now—didn’t stay a secret for too long, either, as ever since they had sex, the boy was like some overly attached puppy, following him wherever he went. At lunch, when Sam finally decided to join the group at the dining table, Dean made sure to sit as close to him as possible, it being a miracle he didn’t just pull the younger boy in his lap, though Sam could see that he was tempted. They snuggled quite a lot, on the sofa while watching TV, in either his or the other’s room, it being usually—AKA always—Dean who latched onto him like a leach and making him incredibly uncomfortable when someone saw them, which unfortunately happened more times than not. Sometimes, however, it was Sam who leaned against the boy when they sat on the couch, smiling contently to himself as the strong, protective arms he has come to associate with such words as “home” and “safe” enveloped him and pulled him close, Sam resting against the other’s chest without a care in the world. Well, unless someone walked in, as then he tried to peel Dean’s arms away from him and pretend that nothing was going on, which often failed, for the boy was a headstrong bastard and wouldn’t let him go, probably even getting some perverse pleasure out of Sam’s misery.

Nobody was too surprised that they were going out, or appeared to be bothered by it. Benny, that asshole, was all grins and “I told you so”s, while Raphael just shook his head, but stayed silent. Ruby congratulated them like they were newlyweds or something, and Crowley simply glared at them from a distance, but aside from that, thankfully left them alone. He guessed it was because the man didn’t fancy being murdered by Dean.

To Sam’s demise, Nick just had to walk in on them kissing, which resulted in him nearly biting a piece out of Dean’s lips from shock, but their boss just gave them a look and warned them not to let this have an impact on their work.

It wasn’t all that bad, not at all. All the affectionate little touches, the kisses and hugs, he enjoyed them, even began craving them after a while. If he would’ve had any doubts before, well, now he was sure that he loved Dean. And while being in love was strange, with Sam’s mind unable to focus on anything for too long before it drifted off, always thinking of the boy, it was also incredible. He finally understood what people meant when they spoke of a pink haze, of nothing else mattering when in love but the object of their desire. And he was totally carrying the torch for Dean, the slightest physical contact, or even being in the same room making his heart beat twice as fast, Sam initially feeling intimidated by these new and overpowering emotions, but gradually coming to accept and embrace them, because damn it, it was due time he felt happiness.

And happiness he felt, the knowledge that Dean loved, wanted and needed him just as much as he did making nearly everything he’s been put through worth it all, even though the boy’s love was borderline obsessive, sometimes showing itself in outbursts of desire.

For example now, as Sam lay peacefully on his back in bed, holding up a book and reading silently with Dean lying next to him, he could see the boy frowning at the book, his one eye narrowed into something close to a glare as he stared at the words.

“How can this entertain you?” he asked the same question for like he umpteenth time, making Sam roll his eyes and turn his head to look at him. The boy was propped up on one elbow, his gaze shifting to Sam when he looked at him.

“I’ve told you already,” Sam said as he lowered the book slightly. “It’s interesting. Plus books are good for you, keep your brain active and sharp. Maybe you should try reading something instead of watching those stupid shows on TV.”

He flashed a cocky grin at Dean, who gave him an annoyed look. “It’s these books that are stupid,” he stated, then before Sam could’ve done anything, the book was knocked out of his hands and to the floor, and then he suddenly had an armful of growling Dean. The boy crawled on top of him, keeping him in place with his knees that were pressed against his thighs, and his hands which instantly went to pin the other’s wrists down, rendering him completely motionless.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, blinking up at his momentary captor.

“What does it look like?” Dean tightened his hold on his wrists.

He winced silently, but couldn’t stop the small smirk that was tugging at his lips. “Looks to me like you’re jealous of a book. What are these kinds of people called again?” he said tauntingly, his smirk widening at the same time the boy’s eye darkened. “Attention whores?”

He let out a laugh, which was very soon muffled by Dean’s lips crashing down against his, the kiss vicious and painful when the boy bit him so hard Sam could taste blood on his tongue, but even so, it wasn’t long before he was closing his eyes and moaning. He shouldn’t have been enjoying how it hurt, how the forceful and brutal kiss pressed the back of his head into the pillow, but it was Dean hovering above him, growling like a predator ready to ravish its prey, and Sam’s body was responding, his back arching and hips bucking, suddenly horny.

Dean pulled away too soon, leaving him breathless and needy, that realization and the nasty grin on the other’s face making him blush.

“There’s only one kind of whore here,” he purred, voice a low rumble, “and we both know who it is.”

Now, being called a whore was too much. At least it should have been. Sam noticed there were a lot of things he _should_ be feeling nowadays, but it was like he was wired the wrong way or something, nearly any and everything managing to turn him on and make him want to just spread his legs. He obviously tried to keep up a somewhat prude front, as to save whatever remained of his dignity. He tried to say no when all he wanted to do was beg for more, because no matter how much he felt like one, he didn’t actually want to become, or behave like a complete slut. It just wasn’t him, and he didn’t want his lust and love for Dean to blind him, change him into something he knew he wouldn’t be proud of.

However he was also a teenager, with his hot boyfriend looking at him desirously, and thinking with his upstairs brain wasn’t too easy like that.

“De…” he breathed, a thrilled shiver rushing down his spine as the boy grinned at the pet name, biting his lower lip before licking a wet, hot stripe up Sam’s neck, successfully driving him crazy.

“Want you, Sammy,” Dean groaned, nipping at the other’s neck, but no, Sam wasn’t going to be some kind of prepubescent teen and come in his pants just from the boy’s voice, no way.

He really wanted Dean too, though, so he tilted his head back and whimpered, his eyes fluttering closed as he whispered, “Please…”

Dean’s lips should have been illegal, they felt so good on his skin. Staying true to his word, the boy attacked Sam’s neck nearly each day, making damn sure it was nice and pretty with his marks, which was what he was doing right now, too. Sam could feel the other sucking wetly at his skin, nibbling and biting down on it, the pain-pleasure quickly making him painfully hard, cock straining against the cotton of his underwear.

When Dean dipped the tip of his tongue in the hollow of Sam’s throat, he made some sort of choked-off moan and arched so far up his back left the mattress, his needy reactions drawing a low chuckle from the boy. “Want my cock in you, baby?” he asked in a deep, hypnotizing tone, making Sam’s head spin. “Want it good and deep?”

He was whining and nodding, his brain quitting, and he really, really wanted to get rid of these annoying clothes, like right now.

“So needy,” Dean growled against his throat, and yep, Sam was going to blow his load in his damn pants, because the boy was palming his bulge now, hard and determined strokes and squeezes making him lose it and let out a loud—

Two resolute knocks on the door had him nearly choking, Sam’s breath catching in his throat as he whipped his head toward the door, watching it with wide eyes.

“When you two are done fooling around in there, come downstairs. _They_ called,” he heard Nick’s disembodied voice say on the other side of the door, the sudden order followed by silence.

Unable to believe the man’s horrible timing, Sam just laid there for a moment, feeling confused and still horny as Dean pulled back and cursed, looking like someone who bit into a lemon.

“Not again,” the boy grumbled under his breath, sighing and running a frustrated hand through his hair, before scratching the back of his head and turning to look at Sam, who was eyeing him curiously. “We have another job.”

“How do you know? And who are ‘they’?” he asked with a small frown, pulling himself up into a sitting position and taking a few deep breaths to calm his erection. He really didn’t enjoy getting all riled up and then left hanging, so Nick better have a damn good reason for interrupting them.

“A bunch of stuck-up fuckers, that’s who they are,” Dean spat, getting off the bed to start pacing in front of it. “They call us up from time to time, making us do stupid shit for them that they’re too lazy to do themselves.”

Well, that didn’t sound promising. “Making you? I thought nobody could force jobs on you aside from Nick.”

“Oh yeah, I know,” he said with a humorless, bitter smile. “Problem is, their boss is also Nick’s.”

“Nick has a boss?” Sam asked in bewilderment, furrowing his brow in surprise. The man didn’t strike him as someone who’d work for people. He was more like the sadist employer type, especially with that creepy smile of his, Sam feeling like shuddering just from remembering it.

But Dean nodded grudgingly. “He does, which makes us that asshole’s and his gang’s underlings too.”

“Are they some sort of mafia gang?” He looked at the other warily, to what Dean scoffed.

“No, but I’m pretty sure they believe that they are,” he sneered. “Pricks, the lot of ‘em. Acting like they own the world, like they own us.”

He wasn’t sure if he should ask, a bit reluctant to know the answer, but did so anyway. “Just who exactly are they…?”

“Arms dealers,” Dean said contemptuously, shaking his head as if just mentioning them pissed him off. “One of the most powerful ones out there, and since we’re also one of the best smugglers, they were quick to pounce on us like wretched hyenas, offering us jobs that look like scenes straight out of those overhyped action movies. Nick refused right away, but those guys are just everywhere, and they didn’t take us turning them down well. Took their ‘anger’ out on one of us, made it look like it wasn’t them, but we knew. We knew they killed Adam, and their veiled threats clearly suggested they were ready to move on to the next victim, so we had no choice but to go along with their little game. We only had to do one job for them, and I was hoping they wouldn’t come back for more… But I guess we just ain’t that lucky.”

“And now they want you to do another job for them,” Sam said in a way that was both a question and a statement.

“Pretty sure that’s why they called, yeah.” Dean’s jaw clenched tightly, a snarl forming on his lips. “But that also means you have to come with us,” he growled, his overprotective streak kicking in, and the sudden flash of rage on his face sent a frightened chill down Sam’s spine.

“Dean—”

“I’m gonna have a word with Nick,” the boy blurted, then was already heading toward the door and vanishing behind it before Sam could’ve stopped him.

Not quite sure what the hell was going on, but also not wanting Dean to get in trouble, he jumped to his feet and swiftly left the room, stepping out onto the steel catwalk just in time to watch as the boy strode over to the whole group already gathered in the large room, before stopping in front of Nick and fixing him with a hard look.

The man scowled at the irritated-looking boy, but before he could’ve used his severe tone on him, Dean was snarling at him, though containing his outrage as much as possible. “What do they want this time? What fucking ridiculous job are they going to force on us, huh?” he demanded, fists clenched at his sides, and even from upstairs, Sam could feel the dangerous aura surrounding him.

Instead of snapping back at him, however, Nick kept his cool, the boy unable to ruffle his feathers. “That’s enough, Dean. I’m not interested in your petty little hissy fit,” he said in a toneless, flat voice. “None of us appreciate working for the Sontarios. We loathe them just as much as you do, but do you see us shouting in uncontainable fury?”

“They—”

“Are a bunch of ‘mouth-breathing dick monkeys’, yes. I know.” Nick closed his eyes momentarily as he sighed, then furrowed his brow into a barely visible frown, his features hardening as he said, “But this time, they didn’t make contact for that reason. This time, they want to arrange a business meeting.”

“What?” everyone—except for Sam, who at this point gave up on comprehending what was going on—blurted in unison, apparently not let in on this particular piece of information yet.

Nick made sure to look at everyone, even glancing up at Sam, before continuing. “This is why I gathered all of you here. I know you have many questions, but so do I, as who I’ve spoken with on the phone refused to give away too much information.”

“A business meeting with those guys?” Crowley spoke up, his face pulled into a grimace. “What business? All they do is order us around!”

“I agree. I simply cannot see the point in a get-together with the very people who have killed one of our own, who are treating us like _trash_ ,” Raphael added sourly.

“We can’t go,” Dean declared. “We won’t go.”

“Quiet!” Nick exclaimed, all authority now. “I understand your unwillingness. I feel the same way. I barely know anything about the upcoming meeting, only the when and where, and I don’t like not knowing. But no matter how aggravating it is, how…humiliating, we all know that we must go. Go and hear them out, see what they want; however one wrong move, and we won’t hold back. Understand me?”

Reluctantly, they all nodded with the exception of Dean, who was sneaking glances at Sam, making the younger boy wonder if he should be going downstairs now or if he could just stay where he was. He would’ve liked it much more if he could’ve stayed, as conspiring and gang boss meetings were way above his non-existent paygrade.

“Must we all go?” Dean asked finally, his intentions behind the question fairly obvious. “All of us?”

With another sigh, Nick nodded. “They asked for the whole team,” the man said, before looking up at Sam,” and that means him, too.”

Feeling dread build in the pit of his stomach, Sam gripped the railing harder and lowered his eyes.

Perfect.

“They can’t possibly know about Sam,” Dean retorted, trying his best to keep the other out of harm’s way, his stubborn efforts touching Sam’s heart.

“They shouldn’t, but they do,” Nick said in return. “They asked for all seven of us, so they must know.”

“This is bullshit,” the boy growled, but aside from that, stayed silent. There was nothing he could do anymore, and he knew it.

In the end, it was Ruby who broke the moment of tense, heavy silence by asking, “So, when exactly are we supposed to leave?”

Nick took a look at his watch. “In two hours. I know, don’t give me that look. Now, hurry up and get dressed. I want everyone waiting outside by five thirty, got it?”

After agreeing, everyone dispersed. Sam watched with a concerned expression as Dean climbed back up the stairs, the boy looking like he wanted to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come out.

“It’ll be okay,” Sam said hesitantly, reassuring the other but also himself at the same time. “I’ll be fine. How bad could it be?”

“Bad,” Dean hissed, then rubbed his face before flashing a thin smile at Sam. “But I won’t let them hurt you. If they try anything, _anything_ at all, they’re dead meat.”

Despite the strange, and probably unsafe, situation he’s found himself in, he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at that. “I’m pretty sure you’re taking this protecting thing way too far.”

“It’s my job to keep you safe,” Dean stated, and Sam could see that he believed it.

He shook his head with a defeated little sigh. Everything was out of his control, he was way out of his depths, and this upcoming meeting was seriously starting to scare the crap out of him…but as long as he was with Dean, he knew everything would be fine. He was going to be fine.

“Alright, let’s get you suited up,” the boy said suddenly, to what Sam raised a confused eyebrow.

“Uh yeah, I don’t have a suit,” he mentioned, but judging by the look on the other’s face, that wasn’t particularly a problem.

“You don’t,” Dean said as a sly grin slowly spread across his face. “Yet.”

—

 

Standing in front of the mirror on his wardrobe, Sam wondered if he was going to throw up.

Since he never went to school, he only heard the stories of the gut-wrenching anxiety students get before a test, or the fear of public speech. He fortunately never had to live through those moments, even though sometimes he wished he could, just to feel that bit more normal, more like everyone else. And while he never got the chance to do any of that, he could still relate to that relentless feeling that just won’t let you alone no matter how much you try, only gets worse as time goes by. Sam had other things to worry about—handing in a pop quiz to his dad, the first time they left the house, or when John gave him that expectant look before a training, making him sweat even more than he knew he was going to.

So he knew how it felt, the great big ball of apprehension making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else aside from all the “What if?” scenarios rushing through his mind like a bullet train.

He knew, and he hated it.

“Oh jeez…” Sam sighed, eyeing his pale reflection in the mirror. Dean had gone out with the promise of getting him a classy suit, which was what he was wearing right now. It was a mystery how the boy knew his size without even asking, but honestly, Sam wouldn’t have been surprised if the other had taken his measurements in his sleep or something. Dean was just unpredictable and plain odd like that.

The suit was nice enough, rather comfortable actually, but Sam was really not doing any justice to it. He has never worn a suit before, so when it came to tying his tie, he wasn’t exactly sure what happened, but he ended up with it looking like Cthulhu. No, seriously; it was a miracle it didn’t come to life and strangle him on general principle. After the complete and utter failure, he decided to discard the tie and glare at it for being uncooperative, and went to fix his suit instead. And he had to admit, he did look pretty cool in it.

It wasn’t anything special, really. A pair of black pants, with matching socks and polished shoes, black suit jacket and the mean tie. The only article of clothing that wasn’t black was the crisp, white shirt that was now tucked into his pants, it being the only thing preventing him from tuning into Crowley.

However while his clothes looked good, he did not. Sam’s hair was washed, smooth and soft like usual, but the look on his face was practically screaming for help, that’s how much he didn’t want to do this. Actually, the worst thing was that he didn’t even know what “this” was. He has never met these strange people, who were apparently even more dangerous than his group, that knowledge filling Sam with so many happy thoughts he was going to puke rainbows. He had a really, really hard time coming to terms with this life, with these people who, he supposed, were the closest thing to family he’s got now; and boom, suddenly he’s going on some shady business meeting. It’s like his life has taken a 180 degree turn and he’s been dropped into a Godfather movie, swearing that if he was going to find a severed horse head on his pillow, Sam was going to flip out. He couldn’t even calm down by telling himself that the others knew what they were doing, because that wasn’t true. Everybody seemed uncertain and uneasy, plus how the heck did these…Sontario people know about him, anyway?

He was too young for this shit, seriously.

It wasn’t like he could whine about it, though. Only to himself, for this was his life now, and he supposed he’d have to get used to it sooner or later. He would have preferred later much better, but that option being neither wise, nor available, it was pretty clear that he’d just have to go with sooner, whether he wanted to or not.

And anyway, as long as he stayed quiet and played the silent henchman, nobody would feel the insatiable need to pick on him, right?

Sam shot a glance at the tie lying on his bed, mocking him, before picking it up angrily and sliding it along his neck and under his collar. He was an official smuggler, and he was not going to let a simple, stupid tie defeat him, damn it.

He was in the middle of a heated battle with an accidental sailor’s knot he has successfully managed to create while trying to subjugate the tie, which now he was positive had a hidden agenda, when Dean barged into his room, drawing Sam’s attention, and holy cow.

The boy flashed him a flirtatious smirk. “How do I look?”

Like some heedless, laid back hitman, Sam wanted to say, but was too busy staring at Dean to answer. He had to admit, the boy was hot in a suit. It didn’t look that much different from his, had the same pants and shirt, but the thin tie was loose and red instead of black, and the sleeves of his black suit jacket were rolled up, exposing his forearms, and yep, Sam was definitely gaping at him now.

He quickly cleared his throat, wrapping a hand around the monstrous knot on his own tie, and then gave the other a nod of acknowledgement. “Yeah you’re…not bad.”

“Not bad? You can do better than that,” the boy said seductively, closing in on Sam while his eye roamed the younger one’s body, before stopping in front of him, his smirk turning crooked.

Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes as he mumbled, “Fine, you look sexy-ish.”

“You just had to add that, didn’t you?” Dean chuckled, then furrowed his brow. “What’s that?” he asked as he nodded to the poor excuse of a tie in the other’s hand, giving Sam one of those annoyingly amused looks.

“Nothing,” he stated, hopeful that the boy would just leave him to his misery, but that obviously was no going to happen.

“Nothing, huh?” Dean teased and reached out to tug playfully at the end of the tie, before removing Sam’s hand from around the knot he still wasn’t sure how on earth he managed to spawn. “The hell happened here?” the boy asked with a laugh, studying the knot. “This…what sort of new technique is this?”

“Aw shut up,” Sam huffed, swatting at the other’s hand. “It’s not my fault that this tie sucks.”

“Oh, so it’s the tie’s fault now?”

“Yes, it is! It, I don’t know, malfunctioned or something!” he complained while throwing his hands in the air in exasperation.

Dean was trying to contain his laughter now. “Y-Yeah, I’m sure that’s what’s wrong here. It…malfunctioned.”

“Oh go and be an asshole somewhere else,” Sam grumbled, clawing at the evil knot, but when it still refused to be obedient and come undone, he folded his arms in frustration and turned away from the boy, glowering at him through the mirror.

Grinning widely, as if asking to get punched in the face by Sam, he patted the other’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Not your fault you suck at tying a simple tie,” he taunted, snickering when the younger boy’s eyes narrowed, then nodded to the knot and asked, “Do you want me to fix that for you?”

“Thanks, but I think I can manage by myself,” he refused, going back to messing around with the tie and praying for it to just behave already, but after a solid minute of trying and failing at untying that vile knot, he knew he was either going to have to show up with a freaking hangman’s noose around his neck, or accept Dean’s offer.

Glancing up at the boy, who was leaning with his shoulder against the wardrobe, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his lips curled into a constant smirk, Sam shot him a warning look, before reluctantly asking, “Can you…?”

“Would be my pleasure,” Dean purred smugly, that pompous jerk, before pushing himself away from the wardrobe and beginning to work on Sam’s tie. He had a frown etched onto his face the whole time, then when he has finally managed to turn the tie back to its normal form, he flashed the other a triumphant smile, then proceeded to demonstrate how a tie had to be tied. “See? It’s not that hard. You just pull this”—he slid the silken fabric under the part at Sam’s throat, then through the knot—“here, like that, and then tighten it. There you go.” Dean stepped back and looked him over, his features softening. “Beautiful…”

Blushing at the compliment, Sam scratched his neck in embarrassment and averted his eyes, fighting the happy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thanks,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on his shoes even as he heard the boy moving, however looked up when he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders.

Dean was standing behind him, watching him through the mirror. “You’re tense. Stressed,” he said, giving a gentle squeeze to the other’s shoulders and making him let out a pleased sigh. “Let me help?”

He lowered his eyes to Dean’s hands, but not seeing anything wrong with receiving a massage from his boyfriend, he nodded. Smiling, the boy began stroking and kneading the muscles on his shoulders, and Sam instinctively relaxed into it, the pressure heavenly. He hummed and sighed in delight as Dean squeezed the flesh at the base of his neck, stroked his fingers up and down his skin, moving them in circles while applying pressure, and it wasn’t long before Sam’s eyes closed and he leaned back against the other’s chest, feeling a bit groggy.

“Good?” he heard Dean ask, and he nodded yes, a small moan escaping him when he felt the boy’s lips on the side of his neck as he tilted his head. “How about this…?” Dean mouthed against his skin as he snaked one of his arms around Sam’s chest, keeping him upright and trapped, while gliding his free hand down the dazed boy’s front until he reached his crotch, then gave it a light squeeze.

“Dean,” he sighed, eyes fluttering open and widening when he saw their reflections in the mirror.

The boy chuckled lowly in his ear, sending a powerful shiver down his spine, all the while keeping eye contact through the mirror and licking his lips hungrily as he began stroking Sam through his pants. “That’s it, baby. Get hard for me, lemme give you a more…thorough massage.”

Sam sucked his bottom lip in his mouth, biting down on it to muffle another moan as blood came rushing to his dick, the fervent strokes and gropes making him hard in a matter of seconds. “We’re supposed to,” he gasped, clutching at the arm around his chest, “be leaving soon.”

“Mmm yep,” the boy whispered smokily, licking up his ear and making Sam whimper. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have some quick fun, does it?”

He knew that getting carried away now wasn’t a good idea, as Nick or someone else could come knocking on the door any minute, but then Dean was unzipping him and tugging his erection out, immediately going to twist his wrist and stroke the hot flesh, and Sam was totally on board with whatever the boy wanted. He tied up the tiny protesting voice in his head and shoved it to the very back of his mind, then just let go, letting his head fall to the side and his mouth open, moaning wantonly.

A particularly hard drag of Dean’s hand had him gasping and mewling, bucking his hips forward, his eagerness rewarded by some more talented strokes. “Fuck, Sammy, this is so hot,” he purred, to what Sam slowly looked back at the mirror, his whole face flushing when he saw just how lewd he looked. “Yeah, that’s right. Watch yourself, watch as you come undone by my hand. Such a sweet little slut for it, aren’t you? So pretty.”

Whining quietly, his legs beginning to tremble, he did as he was told and watched, no matter how embarrassing it was. He watched his chest heaving as he panted, watched his tongue darting out and wetting his dry lips, his nails as they dug into Dean’s arm, desperately holding on. It was so intense, so raw and pure, watching everything unfold right before his eyes, the sight of his lust-blown eyes and red face, high on pleasure, of his pulsing and leaking cock being pumped by the boy’s firm, big hand, and of Dean, as he was also watching everything while murmuring filthy encouragements in Sam’s ear making it impossible for him to last for long.

“Dean, Dean! D-Dean, oh god, I’m—” Sam panted, keening and mewling miserably while thrusting into the boy’s fist, his orgasm building quickly and making it so much harder to control himself.

“That’s it, baby. Come for me, be a good boy and watch yourself come,” Dean growled, tightening his hold on the other’s burning erection and giving it faster and harsher, rougher pumps, the wet sounds of the slip and slide of Sam’s pre-come slicked cock in the boy’s hand intoxicating. It rapidly pushed him over the edge, his hips jerking and head thrown back, half-lidded eyes watching as his reflection came with a shuddering moan, his come landing on Dean’s hand and on the mirror, the sticky white fluid slowly trickling down the reflective surface.

Nuzzling his neck while planting several open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive flesh, Dean continued to stroke him for a long while, and since Sam wasn’t really in a hurry to move or do anything at all right now, he relished in every touch, making some appreciative sounds then and now. It was only when his erection subsided and his dick began softening that the boy stopped caressing him, quickly licking his sticky fingers clean, after which he tucked him back in his pants, placing one last kiss on Sam’s jawline before straightening his back and hugging him from behind.

“Feelin’ better now?” Dean asked with a small smirk, to what the other huffed weakly but smiled nonetheless, then turned around and hugged the boy back, burying his face in his chest to hide his own blush.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, nodding and inhaling Dean’s strong musky scent mixed with the fresh fragrance of fabric softener, suddenly feeling like he could fall asleep right here. He curled his fingers in the boy’s suit jacket, practically clinging to him, not wanting to let go for some reason, but it didn’t seem like Dean wanted to separate from him anytime soon either, what with fondly petting his hair and keeping a secure arm around him.

The hug was warm and comforting, perfect, but it also had to end at one point. Gently pushing him away, Dean smiled lazily and caressed his cheek with the back of his fingers, before pressing a delicate kiss on his forehead. “Everything will be fine, I promise you,” the boy whispered as Sam gazed up at him. “You don’t need to worry about a thing, not as long as I’m with you. And I will never leave you, Sammy. Never.”

He was not going to cry like a girl. He could feel the glad tears gather in his eyes, but he was not going to let them go, let them run free, because he has already promised himself he wouldn’t cry anymore. Not from sadness or happiness, because he wanted to man up, to act more mature. This new life demanded that from him.

But Dean’s reassuring, loving words stirred the familiar butterflies from their sleep and let them roam free in his stomach, Sam unable—and not really wanting—to restrain a smile of his own as he leaned into the boy’s sweet touches. “Good, because I would kick your ass if you did,” he mock-threatened, though he was pretty sure they both knew that he meant it. If he would actually be able to land a hit on Dean, well, that was another matter altogether.

“Hmm, I’m sure you would,” the boy jeered, chuckling when Sam gave him a look, then took a step back. “I think we should be going now.”

“Yeah, you go ahead,” he said, waving at the door as he snuck a glance at the tissue box on top of the drawers. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, before flashing him a knowing smirk and nodding. “Alright then, but don’t take too long,” he told Sam, then winked. “I think we’re already late.”

“And whose fault is that, huh?” he reproached with a frown.

The boy laughed. “You love it,” he asserted, before starting toward the door. “Hurry up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam mumbled once Dean was out of the room, rolling his eyes and walking over to the drawers. He reluctantly pulled out a few tissues, then tried real hard not to think about what he was about to do as he turned around and looked at the dirty mirror.

Stupid Dean and his stupid, incredible hand…

—

 

If anybody would have seen them from afar, they would’ve thought that the group in the van was going to a funeral.

And Sam really hoped it wouldn’t actually turn out to be one.

Everyone had changed into suits and formal clothing, except for Crowley of course, who was wearing the same jet-black getup Sam’s been seeing him in each day, making him wonder if the man even possessed any other clothes aside from that black suit. Maybe he had a closet full of the same shirts and pants, or maybe, he was wearing the same suit every day, without washing it. Sam cringed at the thought, then turned his head and looked out the window instead, watching the blur of fenced houses rush past the car.

They were in a passenger van this time, with enough seats for everyone. Nick was driving, has been for at least two hours since they left the warehouse. Next to him, in the passenger seat, sat Crowley, mostly silent but sometimes unable to repress the need to open his mouth and remind everyone how much he’d rather gauge the Sontarios’ eyeballs out, instead of sitting down to have a chat with them. Behind him, in a single seat, sat Raphael, only talking when he couldn’t listen to Crowley’s bullshit anymore and telling the man to shut it, or else. And in the seats next to his were Sam and Dean, behind whom sat what he was pretty sure was the world’s most annoying duo.

“Look at that,” Ruby drawled, the teasing smile audible in her voice even as Sam was gazing out the window, trying to ignore her, “they’re holding hands.”

Ruby and Benny have been getting on his nerves for the past several minutes, pointing out and making fun of this and that, clearly enjoying themselves much more than they should’ve, and Dean wasn’t being a great help, either. Sam had tried to brush most of their remarks off, to tune them out the best he could and keep his distance from the boy as to not give those two any more reasons to tease them, but Dean wouldn’t have any of it, his overly attachedness ruining the other’s efforts.

“Got a problem with that?” Dean snarled, glaring through the gap between the two seats while squeezing Sam’s hand in his.

Ruby snickered lightly. “No, I think it’s cute.”

“Told you they were a set from the start,” Benny said, making Sam groan inwardly. “Yet you wouldn’t believe me.”

“I know, but who would’ve thought that our Dean here would fall in wuv?” she cooed in a silvery voice, to what the boy let out a barely audible growl.

“Yeah, well this is none of your damn business,” he hissed, before practically squishing Sam against the window as he moved closer to him in their seats, and now even he couldn’t stay silent.

“Okay everyone, enough,” Sam huffed in annoyance, ripping his hand out of the other’s and folding his arms frustratedly. “Just shut up already.”

“Don’t listen to them, they’re just a bunch o’weirdos,” Dean purred, trying to hug Sam, but instead of letting him, the younger boy glared at the older one.

“If they’re weirdos, then what are you?” he scoffed, before sinking lower in his seat and turning his head away from Dean, definitely not sulking. Okay, maybe he was a bit.

“Sammy,” the boy fake-whined as he leaned closer, pressing his forehead against the back of Sam’s head, nuzzling him.

“Aw, how adorable.” Ruby laughed. “We’ll shut up if you kiss.”

“Okay, now you’re just acting like pedo—” Sam grumbled, making the mistake of wanting to glare at them, and immediately getting a mouthful of Dean’s tongue as soon as he turned his head back, his words muffled by a hard kiss. He dug his fingers in the boy’s shoulders, however only resisted for like a moment, the kiss feeling too good to get broken.

“Wow, look at them going at it,” Benny said with a chuckle, Sam making a soft moan when Dean growled savagely, raking his nails down the boy’s back as he pressed him further into the window.

Licking his lips in satisfaction when they parted, Dean looked at the amused pair behind them and narrowed his eye. “That good enough for you?”

“Yup,” Ruby said, then laughed when she saw what Sam was certain was a huge blush on his face.

He spent the remaining hour seething silently, cursing every single person in this damn van, however after a while, he did let Dean hold his hand again, the boy’s happy grin quickly washing his sullen mood away. That didn’t mean that he was in a good mood, though, Sam’s stomach folding in on itself when they entered a secluded road that led to the forest, before emerging in a wide clearing giving home to one of the biggest and fanciest mansion he has ever seen in his entire life.

It was massive. The bumpy earth beneath the car fell away to a relatively smooth stone road as they neared the fence made of white bricks surrounding the estate, the long and pretty damn tall wall of pure white only disturbed by the gothic iron gate’s coal black color. There was already a dark-suited man standing on the other side of the gate, and when Nick gave him a brisk nod that was the closest he could probably muster to acknowledgment, the stranger halfheartedly pushed some buttons and stepped aside as the heavy doors gradually opened. The stones changed to grass as soon as the van rolled through the gate and continued onward, toward the towering mansion in front of them. It was seemingly getting taller and taller the closer they got to it, its sheer size managing to intimidate Sam and making it much harder to keep calm and think happy thoughts. A set of gray stone steps led up to the black double doors of the building generally made up of colors such as white and beige, of gold, the three storey mansion filled with clear windows and long pillared balconies. And while on its left, there didn’t seem to be anything aside from the brick fence, there was a smaller lake on the right, with a willow tree next to it, along with a rather impressive-looking hedge maze, so big Sam wasn’t sure if it even had an end.

“That’s…” he mumbled.

“A good way to spend money,” Benny said with a tiny chuckle, though even his voice was lacking confidence now.

They pulled up in front of the building, and after Nick shut off the engine, he turned in his seat and spoke to the whole group. “Alright boys and gals, time to put your game faces on.”

One by one, they spilled out of the van and into the giant land that couldn’t even be called a simple garden anymore, Sam trying not to gape at everything shiny or big too much, as that wasn’t really aiding in the professional look he was going for. As they walked toward the entrance, he couldn’t help but notice how Dean was keeping close to him like some magnet, their elbows nearly brushing, but right now, Sam didn’t think he would have minded locking arms with him, if only as a form of reassurance.

The double doors opened moments before they reached them, but just when he thought this place even had some sort of motion sensor built in their freaking doors, he noticed the two goons holding them open for the group, the men only a bushy mustache away from looking like biker gang members. The inside of this big ass place was just as extravagant as the outside, maybe even more. They were led down a long marble hallway by one of the men—who by the way haven’t spoken a word yet, their silence only adding tension to the air—before emerging into the wider part of the entrance that even had a staircase, the whole place just sparkling from all the glassy, white and beige marble. Despite its elegance, the mansion seemed cold, missing the plants, the little knick-knacks and other decorations that would make a house into a home, this odd alienation of the large building making Sam shudder in unease.

They only had to wait a moment or two before someone finally greeted them, the woman appearing in the living room which they could see from where they were standing, and giving them a scrutinizing look, Sam needing to hold back another shudder as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Follow me. The boss is waiting,” the woman said, before turning around and disappearing to the left, leaving them no choice but to follow.

They went down the few steps that separated the living room from the entrance, Sam hoping that his eyes were playing tricks on him when he thought he saw a freaking polar bear skin rug on the floor, then passed through the doorway to the left behind which the woman was waiting. She nodded to one of the brown doors that were lining up this hallway when they joined her, the blood curdling to ice in his veins when he saw her lips curl into the tiniest hint of a smirk.

“Skank,” Crowley muttered under his breath, clearing his throat, and for once, Sam had to agree with the man.

The room they were showed to was a bit more normal than the rest of the place, though still a far cry from safe, or cozy. He guessed it must have been because of the sudden rush of warm colors, the place that obviously had to be a meeting room furnished with plush-looking, deep brown armchairs around a long wooden table, same shade of brown office cabinets, a television hanging from the far wall, and it even had a carpeted flooring along with dark painted walls.

“Ah, here they are,” a man standing in front of the television and at the end of the table said, his arms spread out in a welcoming way as he turned toward them. Out of all the people Sam has seen here, this person seemed the most nonchalant. He had a broad smile stuck to his face, his eyes twinkling with what had to be mischief, and unlike the other men, he was dressed in casual clothes. With a pair of jeans, a button down shirt, and a warm jacket, this guy was like the definition of normal and boring, even his features lacking that hard edge he’s seen in all those suited thugs.

This man looked like some mailman named Jerry, and the thought that he was the boss of this scary gang had Sam torn between wanting to hide in a strange panic, and feeling a small bit of relief.

“Azazel,” Nick spat, clearly doing his best not to start snarling at the other man, and nodded at him, his own smile thin and taut.

“Been a long time, hasn’t it?” the man, apparently named Azazel, asked with a laugh.

“Not long enough for my liking.”

Azazel shook his head. “Always so grumpy,” he said, before shifting his gaze to the rest of the group, his toothy smile widening when his eyes landed on Sam, making the younger boy take an unconscious step back, feeling somewhat threatened even when Dean placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come and sit. We have so much to discuss,” Azazel continued, motioning at the chairs around the table as he took a seat in the one at the end, and clasped his hands together on the wooden surface while watching them expectantly.

Everyone found a chair to sit in, Sam choosing one that was the furthest away from the unnerving man grinning at them. Dean sat next to him, of course, and from where Sam was sitting, he could see the other’s tense back and shoulders, the boy’s whole posture like that of an animal’s ready to pounce at any given moment, Dean’s protectiveness managing to calm him down, though only just a little.

“So, tell me,” Nick began, a hint of a scowl forming on his forehead. “Why are we here? What could possibly be so important that you need my whole group here?” The corner of his lips twitched into a sardonic smirk. “Or is this just a practical way of eliminating us?”

Sam was pretty sure his heart stopped for a moment when Nick said that, but thankfully, the other man just laughed and waved his hand dismissingly.

“Oh, come on Nicki!” Azazel leaned back in his chair, negligent to the sparking tension that nickname brought to the room. “You know me better than to think I’d lower myself like that. No, no, I didn’t call you and your little dream team here to gas you…” the man explained in mock reassurance, before shrugging. “You simply happen to have something of mine, that’s all.”

“Something of yours?” the other man asked with a visible frown now, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Yes,” Azazel said, “and I’d like it back.”

There was a pause of silence while those two stared at each other, and Sam slowly sunk lower in his chair, hoping he could duck and find cover fast enough if they were to decide that settling whatever this was required a weapons discharge.

Finally, Nick broke the silence thick with the feeling of impending doom. “Alright. What is it?”

The man’s lips twisted into a crooked grin, which really didn’t do wonders to his face, and then Sam stopped breathing, his brain ceasing to function for a split second as Azazel looked right at him and said, “Him.”

Everyone turned their gaze toward him, but he was way too stunned and perplexed to even think, let alone react or explain what the fuck was going on, as even he had no clue. Wide-eyed and feeling his pulse going from zero to one hundred real damn quick as what was happening began to slowly sink in, he watched as Dean jumped to his feet with such speed and intensity the chair toppled over behind him, the loud thud of it hitting the floor being the only sound in the eerily silent room.

That is, before the boy began shouting.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Dean exclaimed, slamming his hands flat on the table and shooting a deadly glare at the man. Nick also stood up with a glower of his own.

“Azazel—”

“I don’t owe an explanation to any of you delusional monkeys,” he interrupted, unhurriedly getting out of his own chair. “I just need the boy. It’s up to you whether this’ll be a pleasant experience we’ll all look back one day as a nice memory, or if I’ll have to take him by force.”

“Wha—Why? I don’t even know you!” Sam blurted, finally snapping and starting to panic, because this couldn’t be happening. How on earth could he possibly have such crappy luck? This wasn’t normal, at all.

Azazel tilted his head, feigning hurt. “Aw, that stung. And here I thought our meeting was…quite memorable.”

“I’ve never seen you in my life!” he hissed, standing up and slowly backing away, his fists clenched in confused, defensive anger. “And I sure as hell ain’t going with you.”

“Well,” the man said with a sigh, “I don’t think you get a say in that, Sammy boy.”

“But I do,” Nick spoke up, eyes fierce as they glanced between Sam and Azazel, before fixing on the man. “What is the meaning of this? Explain.”

Letting out yet another, tired sigh, Azazel shook his head. “Why should I justify myself to the likes of you? Oh right, I don’t have to.” He grinned wickedly, before snapping his fingers.

And then chaos.

Sam spun around at the sound of the door being flung open as several men forced their way into the meeting room, and he barely had time to process what was happening before one of them got a hold of his arm, already trying to drag him out of the room. There was yelling and screaming, and as he struggled hopelessly in the goon’s iron grip, he could make out his group’s members engaging in a fistfight with Azazel’s men, especially Dean, who kind of went into Hulk mode, kicking and clawing at anything in his way while trying to get to Sam. However that still wasn’t enough, the boy quickly outmanned and getting lost in the blur of suited people as Sam got yanked out of the room and into the hallway.

“Let me go!” he shouted, but it was like he was yelling at a brick wall, the man who had his hand clasped around Sam’s arm ignoring him and just continuing dragging him down the hallway.

Suddenly all alone, without anyone to protect him, Sam took one glance back at the room where the sounds of an ongoing battle were still audible, and when it became evident that no one was going to come and save him, he began to seriously panic.

This was unbelievable.

“You bulk of shit, let go!” He tugged desperately, kicking at the back of the man’s knees, but when that didn’t work, he grabbed an expensive-looking vase and shattered it over the asshole’s head.

“You little…!” the man growled in irritation, unfortunately not seeming too fazed by Sam’s vase trick, and instead of letting him go, he just tightened his grip on the boy, making him hiss in pain.

He was real close to going into hysterics. The man kept dragging him, taking him through the living room, then back to the entrance, and Sam couldn’t do anything about it. He was completely powerless in this man’s grasp, a feeble fucking stick compared to the muscular thug, and it was excruciating. Everyone else was fighting, Dean was probably getting beaten up because of him, all of this was because of him, and Sam didn’t even know what he did. Why him? Why was it _always_ him?

He felt so useless, so confused, so damn scared. Frustrated tears stung his eyes as he screamed, as he threw one curse after another at the man, but nothing was working. This was the worst, the very worst, and he seriously considered just breaking down, when he saw something that lit a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Waiting until they reached it, Sam reached out and took a hold of the bottle of liquor on the small, round table next to the bottom of the stairs, swiftly shattered it against a pillar, then just as the man turned around, Sam used the shard still in his hand to stab him, the goon howling in fury when the sharp glass pierced the flesh of his wrist.

“Lowly piece of shit!” the man roared, reaching out toward him, but Sam was already on the move, nearly tripping as he darted for the transparent door leading outside.

A sadistic déjà-vu, he thought as he ran blindly. That’s what this was, what it had to be. This was the second time in his life he had to run from those that wanted to kidnap him, and this time they wanted to take him from his kidnappers, that weird thought making him want to laugh and burst into bitter tears at the same time. How was this supposed to be fair? He didn’t know, but either way, he could contemplate on what he did or who he offended to deserve this after he was a safe distance away from his pursuer, who was disappointingly catching up to him quickly.

He forced his legs to move faster, even as he felt like his limbs might fall off and his heart might get propelled out of his chest, then skidded to a stop as he reached the hedge maze, his mind going crazy as he considered every possible option, but seeing how there was already someone at the gate which he planned on climbing, surely waiting for him, Sam had no choice but to improvise. Already knowing that this was a horrible idea, as if he learned anything from The Shining, it was never to get trapped in a maze while being chased by a psychopath, but seeing no other way, Sam braced himself and dashed straight into the belly of the green serpent.

It was disorienting, the more turns he made and the deeper he went, the more it felt like he was going in circles, getting himself lost in the giant labyrinth. But hopefully the confusing layout of the maze would serve as an advantage, Sam praying to whoever would listen that he’ll do anything, just please don’t let them find him, please. He kept running and running, taking sharp lefts and rights, just moving blindly for who knows how long, before he couldn’t take it anymore. He was sweating and panting harshly, his heart hammering in his chest and his legs trembling, threatening to give out any second, but he needed to keep going, keep running.

Sam took a few more left turns before he got to a dead end, where he gripped the cold leaves of the bushes as he leaned forward, trying to catch his breath, then just gave up and fell to his knees, his legs unable to support him any longer.

This was a living nightmare. He simply couldn’t wrap his mind around what was happening, didn’t want to believe it, but it wasn’t like he could just press rewind and make all of this unhappen. He tried to take slow and controlled, silent breaths as he crawled to the corner of the dead end, assessing the situation, but still, it was impossible. Sam had no idea why Azazel, a man he’s never met in his entire life, would want to take him from Nick. Was it because of their rivalry? Did he just want to one-up the other? But why Sam? Because he was the youngest, and therefore, easiest target?

So many questions and little to no answers. It was making his head hurt. He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, and decided to just worry about those later. For now, he needed to think. He needed to plan. He needed to get the fuck away from these maniacs.

How? He had no goddamn clue.

First, he couldn’t go back to the mansion. No way, even though the thoughts of leaving everyone in there had him worrying about Dean, he still couldn’t. They were professionals, so they could take care of themselves anyway, right? God, he hoped so. He kind of wanted to fight alongside them, but then again, these people… They had the strength of a body builder. So, no going back there. But—and that was the second on his list—he also couldn’t go to the gate, or use the car, as Nick had the keys and, well, Sam doubted that he could karate kick his way to the gate either, the man he saw standing there seeming he could probably snap bones as easily as toothpicks.

Which kind of basically meant he was screwed.

He rubbed his face, taking a deep breath, but that immediately got caught in his throat and he froze to a statue when he heard the rustle of the bushes coming not far from him. Sam remained motionless, straining his ears to listen while telling himself that it was fine, it could’ve very easily just been a squirrel or the wind, then couldn’t keep that calm anymore when he heard the taunting voice.

“I know you’re here, kid,” the man drawled, and oh god no, his voice was coming from way too close. “You can’t hide for long. Not here, and especially not from us.”

Sam pulled his knees up to his chest, pressing close against the hedge behind his back, and held his breath, hoping that maybe if he didn’t move or show any signs of life, the man wouldn’t find him.

There was a pause, then he was talking again. “You know, we mean no harm. You run from us, sure, we’ll hunt you down, but this is a safe place. Not that run-down shithole those pathetic punks live, but here. This is where you’re supposed to be.”

He wanted to snort in disbelief, but instead just rolled his eyes. This guy was making no sense, and honestly, Sam was starting to get really fed up by all these unclear statements, the way everyone just kept beating around the bush seriously infuriating him. Though it wasn’t like he could just shout out “Hey, explain what you mean right now” without seeming like a complete idiot, so he supposed he’d just have to wait, like always.

“There is no use in hiding.” The voice was turning impatient, and Sam gulped nervously when he heard the growing sound of footsteps. “All you’re doing is prolonging the inevitable. Though…I could never say no to a fun game of hide and seek.”

This was real bad. He needed to leave, and he needed to do it now, or else the man would find him for sure. For god’s sake, Sam was a sitting duck, and he was pretty certain that if he’d let himself get caught by these people, this time it would most definitely not end happily. So he needed to do something, but what? He had no weapons, and despite his trainings he was weak, the punches that worked on Benny doing nothing to this guy. All he could possibly do was run, but he also couldn’t run forever. Still, he guessed running was good enough for now. Much better than getting caught.

He carefully got to his feet, straining all five of his senses and secretly hoping to gain the power of invisibility as he very slowly stalked forward, making sure not to step on any leaves or branches, on anything that could make even the smallest noise. The sudden silence was unnerving, making him apprehensive but also slightly hopeful, wondering if maybe the man had taken another route and lost him; however that idea was rapidly discarded when the speak of the devil stepped out of a corner and into his field of vision, Sam’s eyes going plate sized as he stared at the grinning figure.

“There you are, little boy,” the man purred alarmingly as he began closing in on him.

“Stay away from me!” Sam shouted, instinctively backing away even though he knew he should’ve at least given a try to slipping past the brute in front of him, but right now his panicked mind couldn’t quite think along the lines of practical or valiant. “What do you want?!”

The man chuckled. “Shouldn’t that be obvious by now?”

“But why? I don’t get it,” Sam argued, his clenched fists trembling at his sides as he kept backing away, gritting his teeth.

“That’s not for me to explain,” he said casually, shrugging. “But if you come with me, the boss will be more than happy to tell you everything.”

Sam did snort this time. “Like hell,” he scoffed, however the defying flames in his eyes flickered when he felt the bushes behind his back, then went out completely when the man flashed a sick, twisted grin at him.

“Got nowhere to run now,” he stated with a great deal of satisfaction, and all Sam could do was watch hopelessly as the man closed the rest of the distance between the two of them, feeling small a fucking pathetic. “Will you be a good boy and come willingly, or will I have to resort to violence again?”

Sam actually thought about it, weighting the pros and the cons, then was like fuck this, he wasn’t going to be the lenient little captive, and snarled at the man before trying to scurry through the space between the goon and the hedge to his right. He made it a good four steps, then cried out in pain as his hair was grabbed and yanked, the force snapping his head back so far and hard that Sam was sure his neck was going to break. It didn’t, though, but it did hurt like hell, the pain only doubling when he got thrown onto the ground with way too much ease, and then he was gaping up at the man who wrapped a hand around his throat, Sam having a fleeting thought wondering why everyone felt the need to go for his throat every damn time, before he was grunting as his jaw got punched.

Again and again, the man kept on slugging him in the face, which hurt so much it was slowly becoming numb, and no matter how much Sam struggled and tried punching him back, his blows and efforts were completely useless. It wasn’t long before he gave up, the pain too unbearable and causing his mind to just shut down, but that didn’t seem to bother his aggressor too much, the man continuing his assault on Sam’s face until his vision began darkening, everything seeming so far away, then nothing.

He lost consciousness, welcoming the serene, painless darkness it brought with itself, only getting a disoriented glimpse at the man’s haunting face before that one last punch knocked him out, the last thing he saw being the clear blue sky contouring a dark face, an animalistic sneer, and a pair of eyes that had the pitch black color of the night…

 


	15. The Truth Hurts

 

Sam groaned as he rolled onto his stomach in the bed, then groaned again, the pain as he lay his aching face on the pillow pulling him back to the waking world.

He blinked his eyes open as he shifted onto his back, raising a hand to his face and hissing as he touched a bruise on his forehead. Damn even frowning hurt, but maintaining a straight face right now wasn’t really possible in the puzzled state he was in, it proving even harder to keep calm when he remembered just what happened.

A fight broke out. He ran away, then got caught, and then…

It couldn’t be, but as Sam glanced around the room he was in, it was pretty evident that, yep—he managed to get himself kidnapped yet again.

Wow, the world really hated him, didn’t it?

He sat up in the bed he was in, gripping the surprisingly soft blanket, and looked around, studying the room. Judging by his surroundings and the amout of marble trying stubbornly to blind him, he was still in the mansion, that realization making him nauseous.

What happened? Well, no, he knew what happened. But what about after he got knocked out? How did he get from lying on the hard ground of the hedge maze, getting beaten to a bloody pulp by a lunatic, to a luxurious bedroom with silk sheets, large, clear windows and crystal lamps?

Feeling as dread twisted his gut, Sam gingerly got out of bed, noting how aside from his shoes, all of his clothes were still on him, making him gladly cross “sexual assault” off the his list of possible scenarios. He shuffled in his socks to the glass doors on his left, noticing they led to the balcony as he stopped in front of them, only hesitating for a few moments before sliding them open. Outside, the air was slowly getting chillier, Sam feeling a slight shudder pass through his body as he stepped onto the cold stone of the balcony. The sun was already setting, giving the sky a deep, fiery orange tint, making him wonder just how much time has passed, that thought immediately followed by worry.

What happened to the others?

No, scratch that; what happened to Dean?

He walked over to the edge of the thick, beige stone balcony and leaned over the railing, but as he glanced down at the garden, his stomach dropped. The van they came in was gone, which could only mean that everyone was gone, too. Sam tried not to think of the worst, hoped that they just drove away by themselves no matter how much the thought of betrayal hurt him, as it was still better than seeing them in the same black garbage bags he once saw his father’s remains being shoved in. He just hoped with all of his might that Dean was okay, even though he was sad, because the boy lied to him, broke his promise.

He said he’d always be with Sam, but where was he now…?

Thinking of the boy made him want to cry, which wasn’t good. He couldn’t show weakness on enemy territory, but at the same time, how was he supposed to control his emotions in a fucked up situation like this? This was the second time he got kidnapped. How did that saying go again, “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me”? Well yeah, this wasn’t normal. He shouldn’t have let it happen, should have fought harder instead of just giving in, instead of letting that savage beat him up, but damn it, that son of a bitch was too strong. That shouldn’t have been normal either, how easily Azazel’s goons managed to get the upper hand, Sam remembering how they blocked Dean’s advance as if that was the simplest thing in the world which, knowing the boy, it wasn’t at all. It was like they were some highly trained military gorillas, pumped full of steroids, capable of killing with just one look.

One look…

A terrified shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the man’s eyes. He must have imagined it, he had to, because it was as if before he lost consciousness, he saw the man’s eyes switch from a normal brown to something horrifying. They were black, his eyes. Completely—the pupils, irises, the white of his eyes; everything. Which obviously wasn’t possible, but even if Sam only thought he saw that because he hit his head the wrong way, it was still freaky, and more than a bit scary. Still, he knew that the human eyes would never be able to do something like that, and getting frightened by his own delusions was just useless.

He looked back up at the sky, which was glowing in a darker shade now, the sun as if hurrying to hide behind the trees of the forest surrounding the mansion, drawing its last rays of warm light back in fear of what was to come. Sam was scared too, however he couldn’t hide. He had to find a way out of this place, feeling hopeful when he noticed that the gate was without a guard, giving him the perfect chance to climb it and make a run for it.

Pushing himself away from the thick railing of the balcony, he examined it for the first time, only now realizing how freaking huge it was. Well, more like long, much wider than a usual balcony would be. It ran all the way along this side of the mansion, serving as many other rooms’ balcony, which made Sam anxious right away, worrying that someone might come waltzing out of one of the rooms and spot him. He swallowed nervously, staying outside for a few more moments and studying the railing lined up with smooth stone pillars stretching all the way up the ceiling that was the next storey’s balcony, before reluctantly going back to the bedroom he woke up in, closing the glass doors behind him.

It was dark inside now, and no matter how much he didn’t want to draw too much attention to himself, he supposed knocking over something because he couldn’t see would have been worse. He turned on the translucent crystal lamps on either side of the bed, and if this place wouldn’t have belonged to a bunch of madmen, then Sam would have even enjoyed being here. He had to admit, this room was pretty awesome, full of warm colors and luxurious decorations, with a golden framed mirror hanging above a light marble cupboard, an expensive-looking fur rug spread out in front of the dark oak bed, and a series of elegant wall decorations, golden patterns swirling up and down on a cream background.

Glancing at the white door leading out of the room, Sam hesitated. He couldn’t just rush out like this, without any weapons or at least a well thought out plan in mind. But he didn’t know the complete layout of the mansion, could barely even remember the places he’s been to, as he was in too much of a hurry while running away to store every single detail, and create a map in his head. He didn’t even know where he was, though he supposed that didn’t really matter. As long as he found the stairs leading down, he would know where to go.

But first, he would actually have to get there somehow.

He wasn’t exactly sure how many people there were in the building, but it would have been careless to assume that nobody would be guarding his room. He was a prisoner here, bound to wake up any moment, so leaving him alone would be idiotic. That meant that there had to be at least one of Azazel’s men nearby, and probably more downstairs and all around the house. Damn it, he would have to be sneaky again, even though he hated doing that so much. It was bad for his health.

Well actually, these past few weeks have been a constant strain on his health, really, both mental and physical.

Anyway, staying low and quiet with his size and agility shouldn’t be too hard, and since it was getting dark, he might even be able to hide in the shadows, use the darkness to his advantage. Yes, that should work…

Now all Sam needed was a weapon, and he’d be ready to go and get the hell out of this damn place.

He scanned the room for anything sharp and lethal-looking, but disappointingly, found none; however while checking the drawers of the bedside tables, he did notice a glass of water on top of one of them, placed next to the crystal lamp, just sitting there temptingly. They must have put it there for when he’d wake up, knowing he might be thirsty. How considerate.

Sam frowned at the glass before picking it up, then sniffed its transparent content. He was thirsty, and if he would have been anywhere else, he would have probably downed the water without question in like a matter of seconds, but not here. Here, who knew if the water was drugged or not? Maybe even poisoned. He couldn’t take the inviting water’s safety for granted, and no matter how parched his throat was, Sam was not going to risk it. He wasn’t dying, wasn’t stuck in some kind of a desert, so he could get water later, preferably when he’d be well away from this place.

Still, the glass of water wasn’t completely useless. It would’ve been a stretch to say that it was the appropriate weapon that Sam was looking for, but it was something. Certainly better than if he’d have to go headfirst into action empty handed. So, with a heavy heart, he poured the glass’s contents on the floor, before placing the empty glass on the bed and covering it with a fluffy pillow, then proceeded to punch the shit out of it. When he was positive that he broke most of it, he removed the pillow and studied the mini wreckage, wondering which piece could cause the most damage. In the end, he picked up a shard that looked a lot like the blade of a small dagger, careful not to cut himself as he turned it in his hand. It was sharp enough indeed, though maybe too sharp, having the potential of sinking into his palm if he gripped it too tight. Ah well, it’s not like he was new to pain. He could handle a little cut if it meant he could give a bigger one to these sons of bitches.

He held the shard in his right hand as he slowly made his way to the door, where he stood still for a long moment, just listening, but when he couldn’t hear anything, not even after a full minute, Sam took a deep breath and turned the handle.

Cautiously, he opened the door until it was ajar, then peeked through the narrow gap, knees bent and Sam ready to slash at anything that moved. Nothing did, thankfully, and as his eyes darted around the dimly lit, aureate hallway, he was relieved to note that he was alone. There was another door opposite him, so he would have to keep an eye on that, but aside from the other room, there were only a few lamps lining up the walls of the hallway, illuminating it with their faint, flaming glow. No one sitting in a chair or pacing around while whistling the funeral march, which was wonderful news so far, so after taking one more quick glance around, Sam took a tentative step forward and slipped out of the room.

He closed the door behind him as silently as possible, before getting into a crouching position and starting down the hallway, keeping close to the wall. He took short breaths, straining his ears and eyes for any sound or movement, but everything seemed quiet. Maybe too quiet…

Sam stopped when he got to the end of the hallway, slowly leaning out his head from behind the wall to look around another corridor, this one horizontal from where he was crouching, the hallways forming an oversized T as they met. Glancing from left to right, he let out a small gasp when he saw someone coming from the right, Sam immediately clasping his free hand over his mouth and withdrawing into the hallway he was in, pressing his back into the wall while listening to the person’s footsteps, which were becoming louder and louder. He clenched his jaw, bracing himself for an attack and ready to strike if need be, his pulse so goddamn loud in his ears he barely heard when the suited man appeared in his field of vision. Wide-eyed and desperately trying to merge with the wall behind him, Sam watched the man’s back as he walked past him and the corridor he was in, before disappearing behind a door.

Tilting his head back, Sam let out a slow, unsteady exhale. Maybe he really was good at sneaking around, huh?

He quickly glanced around one more time, and when he was sure he couldn’t see anyone, he headed to the left, all the while keeping low and channeling his inner ninja.

This corridor led to an oval-shaped hall surrounded by many pillared doorways, Sam crouching in one of them and pressing his shoulder against the cold pillar as he looked into the brightly illuminated room. It was mostly empty, save for the round and heavy-looking chandelier hanging from the dome ceiling, and the top of a staircase in the middle, presumably and hopefully the one that’s bottom he’s seen at the entrance.

He chewed on his lips, thinking hurriedly. The hall was too bright, so he couldn’t hang back in the darkness and become one with the shadows, which was a bummer. He wasn’t sure how he’d be able to pull off a flawless escape with all these lights coming from the chandelier and the hallways acting like some spotlights, but he had to try. He already came this far, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stop now.

So without further ado, Sam steeled himself and left the doorway, bolting for the staircase. He took a hold of the golden pillar once he finally reached it, still crouching as he paused at the top and stared down at the steps that curved to the left, preventing him to see if there was anyone at the bottom of the stairs. Well, he guessed he’d just have to find out the hard way as he began slowly creeping down the steps, keeping his eyes peeled as the room downstairs gradually unfolded before and under him, Sam immensely glad he couldn’t see anyone yet.

Unfortunately, he did not have eyes in the back of his head, and so when he heard the sudden voice behind him, Sam was a teensy bit surprised.

“Having a walk by yourself?” someone asked, all sorts or red alarms going off in Sam’s head when he spun around and saw a smirking man at the top of the stairs.

“Shit.” The word slipped out of his mouth as his eyes widened in panic, the sound as the man laughed sending a bone-chilling shiver down his spine, and then he was turning around and running the rest of the way down, not really wanting to wait for the thug to follow him.

In his frantic state, however, he didn’t realize that running on polished marble while wearing socks wasn’t the best idea, and after only a few steps, Sam was yelping and grunting as his foot slipped on one of the steps, the fall sending him tumbling down the stairs. He hit his head and ribs, groaning when he got sprawled out at the bottom, his whole body hurting, and it was a miracle he didn’t break his goddamn neck.

“Nice. What a majestic performance,” the man said mockingly, chuckling as he made his way down the stairs, and Sam was seriously freaking now.

He crawled forward like some pitiful slug, unable to jump up and run because he fucking busted his ankle, and even the glass shard got knocked out of his hand, though it wasn’t too far away, so he might be able to reach it before that psycho reached him. Gritting his teeth in pain and effort, Sam didn’t even give a damn when the glass bit into his skin as he grabbed it, too busy at the moment worrying about the man who was right behind him and trying to lift him up.

“Fuck off!” Sam screeched as the man hooked his arms under the frantic boy’s shoulders before beginning to drag him to the living room, the pain of his ankle sliding along the floor and the frustration of being picked up and manhandled so easily sending him into a frenzy. He thrashed and slashed blindly at the man’s arms, then behind him while hoping to hit something, most preferably an eyeball, but aside from tightening his hold and making an annoyed grunt, Sam’s captor barely reacted. He let out a pained sound as he got thrown onto the polar bear rug—he knew he saw it right—and then immediately got into a sitting position, growling at the man while glaring daggers at him; however when he realized they weren’t alone in the room, Sam’s blood and very being froze to shimmering ice.

Azazel was sitting on the long, white divan sofa behind the glass table between him and Sam, holding a knife which he turned in his hands, the light from the lamps reflecting and twinkling on the blade’s stainless surface and successfully making the boy sick with horror. He sighed, giving Sam a quick once-over before gently placing the knife onto the table, then turned to look at the man standing near the rug.

“Tell me,” he said to the man, voice resembling Nick’s alarmingly calm tone, “why does his face look like someone’s been going at it with a meat cleaver?”

The man shrugged, then realizing his mistake, quickly said, “Sean must have felt the need to knock him unconscious. I wasn’t there.”

Azazel hummed in understanding before his eyes narrowed. “You were the one to bring him to me, though. Any idea why the boy can’t get on his feet?”

“He fell off the stairs all by himself,” the man explained hurriedly, taking a discreet, barely visible step back. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“Yes, yes. I’m sure it had nothing to do with you,” he said absently as he leaned back in the sofa, his eyes gliding to the frozen boy on the floor. “Sammy! How do you feel, buddy?”

He snarled, gripping the fur beneath his palm as he moved to his knees, wanting to just throw the glass shard in his hand at that jackass and hope for it to get embedded in his head. He was so ready to try it out, to lash out with words and start flipping tables, but before any words could’ve left his twisted lips, Sam’s attention was suddenly drawn by the man still standing near them, and by the sounds he was making. A gag, a series of choking noises, and then he was coughing up blood, backing away with bulging eyes while clawing at his throat, looking like someone who was having a violent fit, but this was too much even for that.

It didn’t last long, the man quickly falling to his knees as blood leaked from every orifice of his body, before collapsing onto the marble floor, his limbs jerking for a few more seconds and then stopping, leaving Sam baffled and gaping at the unmoving body.

Shock overriding anger, he shifted his aghast eyes to Azazel, struggling with the words that seemed to be stuck in his throat, too afraid to come out. “I-Is he…?”

“Dead?” He smirked, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Yes, he is. Not like he will be missed; I have more than I can handle to replace him.”

“But how?” he asked in confusion, looking from the man to the one lying on the floor, then back to the one on the sofa.

“Oh Sammy,” Azazel said with a small laugh, shaking his head as he got up and slowly walked around the table, Sam gulping and trying to crab walk away from the eerie man when he came over to the rug and squatted down in front of the boy. “I must say, you _are_ in for a treat. What do you say the two of us catch up on the lost years, hm?”

Sam frowned, glowering at the man and holding out the piece of glass in front of him in what he hoped was a threatening way. “Get away from me! I don’t fucking know you, I don’t get why you keep going on about that!”

“Well, yes… I guess you wouldn’t be able to remember me,” the man said with a shrug. “You were just a baby then, after all.”

“What?” he asked, but instead of answering, Azazel abruptly leaned forward and touched Sam’s forehead, the boy gasping when he felt a strange and alien warmth spread out and across his face. It didn’t hurt, but it was weird as hell, and he instantly slapped the man’s hand away before—knowing that this was probably the best and only chance he’d get—trying to plunge the shard into that creep’s neck.

However before the razor sharp glass could’ve broken the man’s skin, it flew right out of Sam’s hand, bouncing off the far wall before falling to the floor with a soft clank.

Blinking at the shard a few feet away from him, Sam wondered if he managed to hit his head the wrong way, because there was no way that thing just fucking soared through the air like it gained a life of its own. When, even after a long moment, his brain failed to come up with a satisfying answer for what just happened, he raised his gaze to Azazel who was in the middle of standing up, a cocky smirk spreading across his face when he noticed the boy staring.

“Surprised?” He chuckled, his smirk widening into a devious grin as his eyes began glowing, changing color and turning into a sick yellow right in front of Sam’s very eyes. “You shouldn’t be. This is your reality, after all.”

Okay, Sam was definitely losing it.

He gaped at the man, eyes widening so much they hurt, then when he rubbed them and hoped to wake up from this fucked up nightmare already, he realized it didn’t hurt. Hesitantly, Sam raised his fingers to his forehead, sliding his fingertips along the smooth skin and looking for a bruise, for a wound or a cut, however found nothing. He poked his cheeks, rubbed his face, but every single one of the wounds he gained while getting KO’d in the hedge maze were just…gone.

And when he looked back at Azazel, and his eyes were still that bloodcurdling yellow, Sam’s brain ticked before exploding and sending him into hysteria.

What the fuck was going on?

“What the fuck is going on?!” he yelled, voicing his thoughts as he heard it was therapeutic, and he really was in need of answers, like right this instant.

“Calm your horses, Sammy,” Azazel said unhurriedly, like everything was perfectly normal and his eyes weren’t glowing yellow.

“Calm down?” he bellowed with an incredulous snort-like sound. “You don’t get to tell me to calm down while looking like this and…a-and doing shit that makes no sense!”

“Right, it wouldn’t make sense to you.” The man sighed, before going back to the sofa and sitting down. He then narrowed those penetrating golden eyes at Sam, and said, “I won’t sugarcoat it for you. I’m a demon. Everyone in this place is one. The monsters you’ve heard of? They’re real. Ghosts and werewolves, even vampires, though less sparkly and with more teeth. Heaven and Hell, angels and demons, the boogeyman and so, so much more…they all exist.”

Azazel watched him, probably waiting for him to react, however Sam’s mind wasn’t in a cooperative mood.

Monsters? _Demons_?

No way.

Shaking his head, Sam let out a weak laugh. “No, that can’t be. This is ridiculous! Those things are all just made up.”

“That’s what the common folk believe. Safe and sound in their little bubble of ‘normal’ things, but we all know that there is no such thing as normal. You and I more than anyone else…” Azazel flashed his teeth as he grinned at Sam, who was looking at the man—or just maybe, demon—with unbelieving eyes. “We are both special, Sammy, in more ways than one. We have a calling, a reason for existing in this world, and my reason starts here. It starts with you.”

“Me?” he blurted miserably, his mouth working to form words that didn’t exist, that lost all sense and meaning on their way from his brain to his lips. “I don’t get it, I… I’m not special! Why me? Why?”

“Oh no, no, no,” Azazel said in a somewhat soothing, condoling voice. “You are very special, Sam. Very much so. I daresay you’re the most important child on Earth right now.” He leaned forward where he sat, glowing eyes narrowing wickedly. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time. We were destined to meet again, you and me, to end up here. And aren’t you lucky? I chose you. You, and not anyone else. You will be the prince of Hell.”

Sam gaped at him, face twisted into a look of baffled horror. This was insane. It felt like he was in a dream, everything seemed way too surreal, just too damn impossible. But no, the pain in his ankle told him that this was real, a real living nightmare with no way of waking up. He was stuck in this reality, but it was all too much, Azazel making no sense whatsoever, and Sam just wanted to go home, he wanted this to end, he wanted Dean, where was Dean—

Noticing Sam’s rapidly growing discomfort, the demon quickly continued. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since your mother died. Ever since John thought it would be a good idea dragging you cross-country and keeping you locked up in motel rooms while he was out…looking for me,” he said, unable to stifle his laughter when he saw the look of shock on Sam’s face. “Yes, your father was hunting me and my kind, which I suppose was understandable. I murdered his beloved wife, after all.”

“Y-You…what?” Sam’s whole body was being shaken with light trembles from the colorful lake of emotions inside him, feelings such as rage and terror, bewilderment and shock battling it out in his mind and making it impossible for him to focus on any of them for too long. However hearing what Azazel just said turned the fury caught in the jumble of emotions into a bright beacon, and Sam found his strength to glare at the demon, to growl and snarl like a cornered animal. “You were the one who killed my mom?!”

Shrugging, as if it meant nothing to him, Azazel waved a hand dismissingly and nodded. “Yeah, that was kind of a slip on my part. You see, sweet little Mary wasn’t supposed to be there when I entered your room. She wasn’t supposed to interfere, but alas, you cannot stop a mother that’s trying to protect her child. So yes, I had no choice but to burn her alive.”

“You son of a bitch!!” Sam howled, not caring about the searing pain shooting up his leg as he jumped to his feet and dived for the knife on the table, seeing red from all the sorrow and fury. But just before he could’ve reached the blade, he was suddenly and unbelievably getting flung back by nothing, flying backward until he hit the long and hard surface of the fireplace.

Then stayed suspended there, as if held in place by invisible ropes.

“I understand how angry you must be now,” Azazel told him as he slowly made his way over to where Sam was literally hanging from nothing, supported by thin air, yet still unable to move his body, “and you’re right in doing so. But that was a long time ago, it was a…necessary evil, I’m afraid. For my plans to work, I had to eliminate mommy dearest, and send daddy on a wild goose chase. It was perfect like that, my men always able to keep an eye on you while John was out hunting.” His lips stretched into a corrupt smile, before faltering and turning into a sneer. “That failure of a father getting himself killed and losing my most beloved creation was not part of the plan, though.”

Sam struggled against the invisible force, barely even listening to Azazel who apparently loved to hear his own voice. No, Sam was a bit preoccupied by going haywire, because he was being kept in place by nothing, and that wasn’t normal at all. The signs were staring him in the face—quite literally—and no matter how unbelievable, how im-fucking-possible it all seemed, it was real. This was happening, with or without Sam’s brain’s consent, and now that he was more or less done freaking the hell out, he needed to know what this…demon was going on about.

“I’m a normal human boy, for god’s sake!” he hissed through gritted teeth, shooting a weak glare at Azazel. “I’m not whatever it is you think I am!”

The yellow-eyed demon slowly shook his head, that petrifying smile back on his face. “You are the furthest thing from normal, Sammy. You’re my child, became mine when I fed you with a few drops of my blood on the night I killed your mother. It changed you right at the anatomical level, dirtied a part of your pure, innocent little soul in the best way possible. Demon blood, Sam—it’s better than Ovaltine, has all the vitamins and minerals. Makes you big and strong.”

“You…” His voice trailed off, Sam feeling sick. Demon blood? That monster fed him with his own _blood_? How fucked up was that?

He tensed impossibly more when the demon stepped closer to him, Azazel standing at eye level with the suspended boy. “I have no intentions to hurt you, Sam,” he said, voice taking on a softer, more reassuring tone. “I might have come across that way, what with getting into your head and giving you all those horrible nightmares, killing Mary and now separating you from Nick’s group.” The demon smiled at the look of worry etched onto Sam’s face upon hearing his boss’s name. “They’re alive, just so you know. I only had my men throw them out…that is, after beating them unconscious. One of them was particularly hard to subdue. I assume you two are close?”

Sam snarled. “None of your damn business,” he growled warningly, though felt a slight relief knowing that Dean and the others were still alive.

“Alright, alright. I won’t pry.” Azazel raised his hands in mock surrender, smile widening. “Anyway, I want you to know that you don’t have to feel threatened here—”

“Don’t have to feel threatened?!” he snapped, baring his teeth at the demon. “I’m trapped in a place full of fucking monsters and, what, you want me to feel safe?”

“Point taken,” Azazel said as he took a step back, then after a flick of his wrist, Sam was suddenly falling and crying out in pain when his aching foot met the floor, nearly collapsing from the small but painful impact, however managing to balance himself on his good leg. “There, no more violence,” the demon stated, to what Sam shot him a cynical glare. Not seeming to be too fazed by it, he continued. “I mean it, Sam. My plans for you do not involve pain and bloodshed, at least not any concerning you. You see, I’ve been wanting for us to meet for a long time now, but I waited instead. Always watching over you, but waiting. Patient. When you disappeared from my radar, I must say I was slightly distressed. Snapped some necks, burned a few people, massacred some cattle—you know, just the usual. Imagine my joy and surprise when one of my demons told me he saw you and Dean at the Albuquerque airport! I would have never thought that the very people that work for me would kidnap you, unknowingly aiding me in my plans.

“I wondered if I should kill them all and take you from them, but then settled on simply luring them in my trap and snatch you like that instead. I do still need Nick for a few things in the future, so killing him off would have been such a stupid waste. And now that you’re finally here, where you belong, you can relax. Sam, this place is yours. I mean it. Everyone here is at your service, because they know better. They will be loyal and obedient because you’re important; because you’re the boy king of Hell.”

“I’m what?!” Sam stared at Azazel in shock, his mind struggling to keep up with all the information. This was too much, too fast, and now suddenly he was the king of Hell?

What the fuck?

“You have incredible power inside you,” the demon said enthusiastically, yellow orbs shining brightly. “Dormant, but so very powerful. I planted a seed in your very soul that night, in that room, and now the time has come for it to grow, to flourish! You could be so much more, Sammy, can’t you see? You are nothing like the rest of them. Not a human, not even a demon; you’re special. Chosen by none other than Lucifer himself!”

Sam opened and closed his mouth, then just gave up. Seriously? First demons, and now Satan? He didn’t know if he should start laughing or crying.

Unperturbed by Sam’s shocked silence, Azazel kept on talking. “With my help, you will become one of the most powerful beings on this Earth. An unstoppable killing machine, rivaling the strength of both Heaven and Hell. The potential is already in you, and all you need to achieve the desired results is right here,” he explained, a crooked grin twisting his features as it split his face. “All you need is some blood.”

Seeing the wicked glee in Azazel’s twinkling eyes, Sam went completely pale, his stomach doing backflips as those words sunk in. “No,” he refused, shaking his head and limping back until he was pressing himself against the fireplace again, this time by his own accord. “I won’t turn into some Antichrist, fuck that! Both you and your little demon army can go back to Hell, because I’m not going to be some kind of vampire and…drink your blood.” He shuddered just from the mere thought of it, then tried to focus on his disgust and resentment toward the demon as he fixed him with a glare, needing to ignore any self-pitying or panicked thoughts, at least for now.

“I won’t force you,” Azazel said with a sigh after a while, “but this is also not your decision to make. Sooner or later, you will come around. I know, because we have all the time in the world, and you’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m not staying here,” he stated, the confidence missing from his voice, which he realized with disappointment was trembling slightly.

“Yes, you are,” Azazel said matter-of-factly, not even raising his voice anymore, just sounding casual and somewhat tired now. “This place is your home now. You can try to escape as much as you want, you’re free to do so, but you will never succeed. And I don’t know about you, but if it would be me in your shoes, I wouldn’t even try. I mean, Sammy, come on. You will be treated as a young king here. All my men are yours, and who wouldn’t want a whole _race_ as their servants? Hell could be your playground. This mansion here is just the tip of the iceberg, and if you’d accept my help, you could have so much more. Don’t tell me you’ve never dreamed about it.” The demon’s lips curled into a sly smirk, eyes narrow and gleaming as he took a step toward Sam, who was desperately eyeing the fire iron in the corner of his eye. “Being different is a pain, isn’t it? Always that nagging little feeling you don’t belong… But you could be special, embrace your difference. I know you want it; who wouldn’t? Power and recognition, to have everything you could ever think of. It’s everyone’s dream, but it wouldn’t have to be just a dream for you. Everything you’d ever want could be reality, it’s right around the corner, and you’d love it. Believe me, I know. You would enjoy every second of it, even if you’re hesitant now. Just one taste of blood, one little taste of the incredible power it could bring…”

But Sam was shaking his head again, strands of hair a messy halo around his head. “No thanks, not about that life,” he snarled, then frowned in surprise and slight confusion when Azazel just shrugged and turned his eyes back to normal, before walking back to the sofa and sitting down, apparently done with the conversation.

“Suit yourself,” the demon said, voice hiding a great amount of irony, and picked up a thick whiskey glass among the set of them on a silver tray sitting on the table. He studied it for a moment before placing it on the table, then grabbed the knife still there and moved his bare wrist above the glass, Sam’s eyes widening because no, he wouldn’t…

But he did, and Sam watched in horror as Azazel slit his wrist with the blade, fat droplets of blood dripping into the glass and slowly filling it. The flow of blood stopped after a while, leaving the glass slightly more than a half full, and after shaking his hand a little, the demon pocketed the knife and got up, then shot an encouraging look at the stunned boy.

“A peace offering,” he remarked with a wink, before disappearing right in front of Sam’s eyes.

He blinked at the empty spot where Azazel stood just moments ago, feeling lightheaded from all that happened. He wasn’t sure how long he stared ahead like that, at a complete loss for words and looking at the living room without really seeing it, but he guessed he must have been standing frozen for about a solid minute or two before finally taking a step forward; however still a bit out of it, he used his injured foot, which resulted in Sam letting out a small grunt of pain and falling to his knees, his forehead barely missing the edge of the table and saving him from another concussion.

So…what? He was stuck in a mansion full of teleporting demons, was even less normal than he thought, and apparently Satan knew who he was, that’s what.

Someone please, wake him up from this ridiculous nightmare.

What the dickens was he supposed to do now? No, seriously—he couldn’t run, not with honest-to-god monsters from Hell guarding him, couldn’t possibly fight them, and there wasn’t even a ghost of a chance that anyone would come and save him; not here, not while he was surrounded by demons. Speaking of which, why didn’t he know about these things until now? If Azazel was speaking the truth, that meant that his dad was some sort of a monster hunter, which might have sounded pretty cool and also explained a lot, but then why did John keep him in the dark? He trained Sam for all sorts of things, except on how to beat demons and other creatures that went bump in the night, Sam pretty sure those lessons could’ve been much more useful than learning how to do a karate kick that most probably wouldn’t do crap to his current adversaries.

This world was crazy, he deduced. He thought being stuck with a bunch of criminals was bad, so what was this supposed to be? Sam didn’t ask for this, he never wanted to become some sort of “boy king” or whatever it was Azazel believed he could make him into by drinking demon blood. A revolted shudder ran through his body at the thought of ingesting blood, and as he knelt on the soft rug, he tried not to let his eyes wander over to the glass on the table he knew was filled with the red stuff. Did that yellow-eyes really think Sam would just saunter over to the glass and drink the blood by himself? Leaving him with the thick liquid did nothing but disgust him, and the fact that there was still a freaking corpse not far from the table wasn’t helping with soothing his nerves either.

First things first, he needed to get out of here. Maybe not the mansion, as that was deemed impossible thanks to his sprained ankle and the demon babysitters, but at least from this room. It wasn’t because the more time he spent here, the more tempting the glass of blood became… At least that’s what he told himself, refusing to consider the other possibility. Either way, he needed to get back to his temporary room no matter what, as while he couldn’t see any more demons right now, he was sure that the place was swarming with them, and Sam was not the least bit ready to meet with another one of these supernatural creeps.

So after shooting a hateful glare at the glass on the table, he carefully got to his feet and began limping back to the staircase, where he tried not to fall again as he climbed—or more like jumped—each step with utmost caution. It was just his luck to meet with another dark-suited demon on his way back to the hallways where the room was, but thankfully the demon merely nodded at him, Sam glad that it didn’t go for his throat but still creeped out by the sudden politeness. He remembered Azazel saying something about obedient demons, but he didn’t think that creatures of pure evil would actually go along with it and lower themselves just for him, making him wonder just what he was.

What kind of horrible monster would Sam turn into if he was to drink blood, that it made even the demons all submissive?

He really, really did not want to find out.

—

 

Just like when he was in the warehouse, Sam spent all his time in the room, this time not even needing to leave it as the demons brought everything to him.

It was unusual and just plain weird. He supposed many people would have enjoyed getting spoiled like this, having food and drinks brought up to their room without even being asked to, but honestly, Sam was just creeped out.

Two days have passed since he realized he was some sort of “chosen one” like in a stupid move cliché, and the demons did not disappoint in living up to their expected obedient henchmen characters. They treated Sam like he was already a king, bringing him pajamas made of golden silk at night, formal but comfortable clothes in the morning, breakfast, lunch and dinner on the dot, along with some fruits and sometimes cakes, successfully making him feel like he was some sort of Persian prince.

He didn’t eat anything at first, wary the food might be drugged or worse. Who knew if they didn’t put a spell on his mashed potatoes? So yeah, he left the tray of delicious smelling food on his nightstand, turning in bed and distracting his hunger by trying to figure out a way of getting out of here, in vain. He thought and thought, but couldn’t come up with anything, getting annoyed at his useless brain while thrashing around in the bed some more until it was time for dinner. His cold lunch was replaced by a steaming piece of steak with fries, and Sam fought it as long as he could, he really did, but he was quite literally drooling from hunger by then.

After that, the food became the best part. Sometimes he even considered leaving the room and looking for the kitchen, just to indulge in some grapes or whatever he could find in the fridge, but always managed to stop himself, the part of his mind that wasn’t constantly hungry taking the wheel and steering him back onto the right track. He didn’t know why, as he wasn’t one to eat a lot, but he just couldn’t stop. It made him worry that maybe the food really was drugged, but aside from hunger, he didn’t feel anything odd in particular, so he doubted it. Still, nothing should’ve been that delicious, yet he couldn’t help but wolf down whatever was brought to his room.

What was even stranger was the smell. When he first entered this place, he noticed a weird smell in the air, kind of like sulfur; however as these two days went by, that smell was replaced by something sweeter, something charming, Sam realizing with slight shock that it came from the demons. The demons smelled _good_ , making him wonder if they either started using the same cologne, or maybe he was just going nuts.

Probably the latter.

The possibility of going crazy didn’t stop him from taking a deep whiff of air even now as a demon picked up the empty plates that once held his dinner, before taking them out of the room. His own actions were making him sick, Sam feeling utterly repulsed by himself as he stared longingly at the door while licking his lips, needing something he simply couldn’t put his finger on.

This wasn’t normal, his behavior wasn’t normal, and it was seriously staring to scare him.

Frustrated, he ripped his gaze away from the door just as it opened and another demon came walking in, holding a glass that Sam only needed to take one look at to know its content. “Take that thing away from me,” he hissed, sitting in bed while slowly moving back, keeping his piercing eyes on the demon making its way to his bed.

“Boss says it’s time,” the demon said, and no matter how many times he’s seen it, Sam still couldn’t help but feel the sharp tug of fear when he saw the creature shift its eyes to pure black. “You’re ready now.”

“Ready for what?” he snarled as he glanced at the glass in the demon’s hand. “I’m not drinking that, if that’s what you mean. You can’t make me.”

“Who said anything about making you do anything?” The demon’s lips twisted into a vile grin as he placed the glass on the bedside table, Sam’s breath catching in his throat as he got hit by that same sweet scent that immediately had him swallowing.

“No…” he growled, his refusal more of a plea than an order as he looked away from the glass, hands shaking from the effort he gripped the sheets beneath him. “Take it…away.”

The demon smothered a chuckle. “It’s alright, you shouldn’t fight it. It’s only natural,” he said, motioning with his hands, and Sam had to clench his jaw to stop himself from looking at the demon’s wrist, at the veins under soft skin…

Oh god, what was happening to him?

He must have zoned out, because when he finally raised his gaze, the demon was gone. He did not, as Sam would have hoped, take the glass of blood with him though, its tempting scent entering his nose each time he inhaled, and Sam wanted to cry. This was torture, the demons were freaking torturing him. It wasn’t supposed to work, the blood was supposed to gross him out just like last time, but somehow, it wasn’t. Somehow, it looked and smelled appetizing, the blood as if whispering to him in a language only he could understand, calling out, reaching out to him and singing, promising, seducing, until he snapped.

Sam turned quickly, grabbing the glass and _whining_ when some of the blood spilled as he lifted it to his lips, before downing the whole thing with big, desperate gulps.

Pure ecstasy.

Sam’s taste-buds exploded as the first drops touched his tongue, enveloping it like a warm blanket, the syrupy goodness better than anything he’s ever experienced before, including sex. It was sweet like honey, yet still carrying that metallic tang that just made it taste better. Its warmth quickly spread through his whole body, drawing an erotic moan from him, a shiver running down his spine as he kept on drinking, convinced he was tasting the universe. It was such a strong, overpowering taste, filling him to the brim, thick and amazing and so not enough, Sam using his tongue to lap up every single drop before cleaning the glass with his fingers, which he suckled until the skin turned wrinkly from saliva.

He was panting, trying to blink away the drunken haze that had descended on him, but when he failed, he decided to just lie down and let this orgasmic feeling rumble through him, let it carry him off anywhere it wished.

Mind blank, so close to falling asleep, the only reason Sam managed to snap out of his daze was because the sound of the glass rolling off the bed and shattering on the floor startled him, apparently enough to drag some of his brain back to the cruel reality. And when it did, when he realized what happened, what he had done, he wished he could’ve fallen asleep instead.

He drank the blood, and it was incredible. So wrong, so horrible, but so fucking amazing. He understood what Azazel meant before, could actually feel something akin to power buzzing through him while he drank the blood, and even now, his senses were increased. He could feel the air against his sweaty skin, hear the distant footsteps of the demons, could even smell aforementioned demons, but no matter how impressive that was, it was also frightening. Sam knew why the demon that brought him the glass seemed so confident now, because the taste in his mouth was familiar. It wasn’t the same, was only the shadow of the blood’s shadow, but he could still recognize it. They fucking fed him the blood, all this time. It was in his drinks, in his food, in everything they gave him. Only a small dose, barely there, but just enough to make it impossible for him to resist once the real thing was put in front of him. And their plan worked, Sam fell right for it like the blind, stupid little shit he was, and now…now what? He drank the demon blood, so did that mean that he’d start changing? Turn into a monster?

No, he didn’t want that. He couldn’t, Sam wasn’t ready to throw his humanity away, no matter how good the blood was. He didn’t want to become an addict, but unfortunately, judging from the fact that he’s been unknowingly drinking and eating demon blood for the past few days, he supposed he already was. It was too late, the blood was in his system, and he could already feel himself craving, needing more. It made him sick, so goddamn sick, but at the same time, in an impossibly twisted way, curious too. Selfishly, he was looking forward to the next glass, for not only did it taste heavenly—which was funny, considering how it came from Hell’s creature—but it also made him feel good. Like, really damn good. All his worries, all his unease got washed away, pushed further and further down into a bottomless well with each gulp of the crimson nectar, leaving nothing but the hypnotic feeling that was a lot like, but not completely similar to, being high on heroin.

But no, that was wrong. Sam groaned and rubbed his eyes, gritting his teeth in irritation. He couldn’t believe it, but he truly was torn between grabbing a piece of broken glass so he could open up the first demon he saw, and finding the bathroom to throw everything up. In the end, he chose none, and just curled up in the bed instead, shedding silent tears and clinging onto the excuse that it was too late to throw up now, since the damage had already been done.

He was such a pathetic excuse of a human being, but then again, he guessed he wasn’t really human anymore, was he?

 


	16. Live And Let Live

 

He fought it.

He really did.

But fuck, it tasted so _good_.

Sam stopped eating and drinking after he realized that they’ve been putting blood in everything. He refused to even leave the bed, but his already weak resolve broke after only one day, it proving to be next to impossible to resist the warm, fresh walking blood banks that kept entering his room and bringing that mouthwatering scent with them. He told himself he would be okay, that he could stop if he wanted to, kept telling himself that as he clawed at his pillow in frustration, as he screamed with a strange pain in his very being, as he grabbed the glass that was brought to him and greedily drank everything till the last drop.

He knew it was the cruelest drug, worse than meth or heroin, it had to be. Cruel but sweet, the way the blood curled around his insides and lifted him up into the skies, the way it never failed to make him believe that everything was fine and beautiful, even if for a short while, making Sam want to leave this place less and less. This fantasy castle of marble and blood, of dreams and forgotten worries was everything he never knew he wanted. It gave him life, a new kind of life, a better life, made him strong and full of energy. He was constantly under the demon blood’s spell, but he didn’t mind, because it made him feel safe and comfortable, trapping him in a sweet mirage he never wanted to escape from.

The demons stopped bringing him glasses. Instead, they willingly cut themselves for Sam, offering their blood straight from the tap. The first time a demon slit its wrist in front of him, Sam couldn’t rip his gaze from the blade as it slid across thin skin, watching in awe when the beads of juicy blood formed along the deep cut. He then pounced, latched onto the wound, immediately shutting up the voice screaming at him to stop, to look at what he was doing, at how fucked up and disgusting it was, instead reveling in the powerful taste of the blood that went straight to his head as he suckled on the cut, hearing the demon laugh but not giving a crap about that either.

And once he got a taste, he was like a bloodhound—unstoppable.

Fresh blood was so much better than what he got from the glass. He didn’t think it could get any better, but it did, and then he couldn’t just stay in his room anymore. The blood healed him, his ankles and any remaining wounds; it did unimaginable things to him, and after a few days of demon blood diet, Sam was sure that he has truly stopped being human.

Pain was alien to him, along with some emotions that used to make him Sam Winchester. No sorrow or sadness, no anxiety or nervousness, no fear whatsoever, the change slow but noticeable. He remembered that there was a reason why he shouldn’t stay here, why he shouldn’t feel a twisted glee when he saw a demon, but what that reason was, he had no idea. Why would he ever want to leave? Wasn’t this place simply the best? It was full of demons that never ran out of blood, his food also his servants, Sam living the life of a king here and loving it. He even had powers, unable to stop laughing in joy when he found out he could hurl demons through the air with only a flick of his wrist. It needed a good amount of concentration, it sometimes resulting in headaches and nosebleeds, but the power and control was so very worth it. He still totally hated Azazel, the yellow-eyed demon pissing him off with his overly friendliness and smug grins, but since Sam couldn’t use any of his newfound powers on the probably higher class demon, he had no choice but to put up with his bullshit.

He didn’t change completely, though. At least physically. He could lift heavy objects and his senses skyrocketed, he had supernatural powers he only ever dreamed of, but he still looked like a normal human. His eyes didn’t turn black or yellow, no matter how much he practiced in front of a mirror out of curiosity, he didn’t grow fancy demon horns or anything, and unfortunately, he couldn’t teleport, that realization making him want to sulk the most.

He stopped sulking when he realized he could kill demons, though.

Sam was in what he had come to name playroom, as it had a pool table, several arcade game machines, and a poker table, in the middle of beating his record in Donkey Kong, when the demon showed up with some of its buddies. They probably came to play some poker, and Sam hated to be the spoilsport, but that many demons at once had him really hungry. Or thirsty, he still wasn’t completely sure what that craving feeling was. Anyway, the demons weren’t in the mood to get opened up by him, having a rebellious streak in them no matter how obedient they were, since deep down they were still evil creatures, but Sam didn’t quite mind. At least he could use his cool powers on them. However he must have gone too far, had a bit too much fun with one of them, as one second the demon he had pinned against the wall with the firm, invisible force was struggling and growling, and the next it was shrieking and flashing, sparks of orange lights going off inside him before it stopped moving altogether, body falling limply to the floor when Sam released him in shock.

The demons had given him a horrified look before disappearing, leaving Sam alone with the corpse of a demon he murdered, and feeling confused but excited, because wow, he was freakin’ awesome.

As the news of his newfound ability spread, the demons became more compliant and humble. No witty remarks or whispers behind his back, making Sam feel like he was the ruler of the world, which, he supposed, he kind of was. He could be, if only he wanted to, many times toying with the thought of accepting Azazel’s offer of descending to Hell with him and becoming the King of Damnation.

But he never really got to accepting it, to considering it long enough to make up his mind and leave this world behind for something so much darker and better, because after less than a week since he’s been here, another kind of Hell broke loose.

—

 

Sam licked his fingers, relishing in the lingering taste of sticky blood on the digits. The demon was frowning in discomfort, hands trembling as it tried to stop the bleeding from the huge gash Sam has made on its wrist, the boy watching in amusement as the creature kept failing at covering the wound, its pathetic struggle causing some drops of blood to paint the white marble of the living room in a pretty red.

He was about to scold the demon, tell him to stop wasting Sam’s precious food, when another one appeared in the room, wearing a giant grin on its face.

“Sir,” the demon said, addressing Sam, “I think you’d want to see who came to visit Azazel.”

“Hmm?” He got up from the divan sofa while chewing on his nails to get out any blood stuck under them. “Who?”

The demon’s grin broadened. “You should see for yourself.”

Not in the mood to start arguing, he gave one last lick to his fingers before shrugging, and followed the demon when it turned around. As they walked to the narrow hallway of the entrance, he wondered what the big deal was about, though actually, he could’ve guessed who it was. He had two guesses, and when the demon opened the door to a much smaller version of the meeting room he’s seen before, he was both pleased and slightly surprised that one of his guesses was right.

Nick stood in front of a small, round table surrounded by three armchairs, one of them occupied by a nonchalant-looking Azazel. His head whipped toward the door when it opened, a flash of relief apparent in his slightly wide eyes when he noticed Sam, but just as always, he was back to his calm and collected self in a second, taking a step away from the table to give the boy standing in the doorway a quick once-over.

“Sammy!” Azazel exclaimed enthusiastically, sitting up straight in the armchair and beckoning him to come and join them. “So glad you’re here. Come, why don’t you take a seat, since Nick here has come all the way to pay us a visit. How considerate, isn’t he?”

There was an obvious tension in the air, and as he glanced between the two men—well, man and demon—he might have even felt slightly awkward, but only for a moment. “No, thanks,” he said and leaned against the wall next to the now closed door instead, folding his arms as he regarded them carefully.

“Boy’s always such a handful,” the demon joked, flashing a smirk at Nick before getting comfortable in his chair again. “Alright then, where were we? Oh right.” His smirk turned into a lopsided smile. “You want to negotiate.”

“Yes,” Nick stated, his hand that was on top of the armchair next to him gripping the cotton as his piercing blue eyes narrowed into a slight glare. “You already heard my offer.”

Azazel nodded slowly. “Yes, yes. Very generous. Your undying loyalty in exchange for Sam,” he said consideringly, tapping a finger against his chin, before pursing his lips. “But, you see…I just can’t believe you. You’re not that type of guy, Nicki. If you’d be willing to throw your pride away for a simple boy, I’d be real disappointed in you.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but my offer stays the same,” Nick declared, voice firm and somewhat commanding, but Sam noticed his shoulders and whole posture was way too stiff, as if he was bracing himself for something.

“Mhmm, I see,” Azazel drawled. They stared at each other for a long moment, engaging in a silent staring battle, before the demon looked away, probably bored, and smiled at Sam. “Well then, how about we ask the speak of the Devil over there?” He raised an eyebrow. “So? Do you want to leave with Nick, Sammy?”

He scowled, wondering what Azazel was trying to do, but when he noticed Nick’s irritatingly confident eyes on him, it became pretty obvious.

Grinning inwardly, and then letting it spread to his features, Sam shook his head. “Nah, I’d rather stay. I like it here,” he said, unable to suppress his sadistic glee when he saw the brief look of surprise cross Nick’s face, followed by angry confusion as the man fixed Azazel with a hard glare.

“What did you do to him?” he demanded fiercely.

“You know, it’s hilarious how you think I had anything to do with Sam’s decision,” the demon said with a scoff, laughing when Nick slammed his hand down on the wooden table, finally losing his cool.

“Don’t make me laugh,” he spat, pointing at Sam. “That’s not Sam. You’ve obviously done something to him. I don’t know if you brainwashed him or tortured him, but you did _something_ , and I do not abide by anyone hurting my people.”

Azazel tossed his head back, laughing. “Your people? Come on Nick, wake up! He doesn’t—”

A loud series of bangs shook the whole building, Sam slapping his hands over his ears and falling to his knees as the deafening sound assaulted his eardrums. When it was over and he got back on his feet, feeling slightly disoriented, Sam needed to do a double take, as apparently while he was on the floor, the situation in the room turned completely upside down.

Nick had a gun out, a pretty strange-looking one, and had it pointed at Azazel’s face, the demon’s eyes wide and glowing yellow, his hands raised in surrender.

“Grenades…?” he asked, raising his eyebrows with a small smile.

Nick shrugged. “I couldn’t be sure what would work on you monsters. Thought grenades would do pretty well.”

“Ah, I see.” Azazel nodded. “I suppose this means the deal is off, too?”

“It was never on,” the man hissed, taking a step forward and moving his index finger to the gun’s trigger, and Sam couldn’t believe his eyes, but Azazel visibly gulped in what was no doubt fear.

What was going on?

“Nice little revolver you’ve got there… Where did you get it?” the demon asked with a wary smile as he lowered his eyes at the gun in Nick’s hand.

“Oh, this?” It was Nick’s turn to smile now, his sly and vicious, that unusually terrifying look on the man’s face making even Sam frown in discomfort and take a step back toward the door. “It took a while to find, but all those sleepless nights were worth it. This Colt can kill even the likes of you, can’t it, you wretched monster?”

“Now, now. Let’s talk about this,” Azazel said and tilted his head, raising his hands higher when Nick snarled. “Look, all of this is for Sam, right? Well, he is one of us now. Are you going to kill him too?”

His stomach dropped when the man cast a glance his way, then could barely hear what he said next from the horrible sound as some more grenades went off, the bangs seemingly coming from closer than before. “No. We’ll figure out what to do with him after you’re dead.”

“So this really is a rescue mission?” Azazel laughed, as if oblivious to the dangers of the gun pointed at him. “Didn’t you hear him? Sam doesn’t need you!” he sneered, before looking at Sam. “Tell him! Come on, show this blind idiot what you really are, what you were always meant to—”

“You’re too loud,” Nick interrupted him, then just like that, pulled the trigger and shot the rambling demon in the face. “Shut up.”

Some more blasts echoed off in the distance, their thunderous rumble knocking plaster dust from the ceiling as they both watched Azazel’s flashing body collapse to the carpeted floor. Moments after it hit the ground, Sam’s eyes widened as Nick turned around and pointed the gun at him, and when he extended an arm, trying to hurl the man across the room like he’s done many times with demons, he realized with dread that he couldn’t.

Nick’s frown turned into a glower as he closed in on Sam, before stopping in front of him and motioning at the door with the barrel of the gun. “Move. We’re going back home.”

“No,” he growled, fists clenched at his sides. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Not anymore.”

There was another explosion, this one louder and much stronger, nearly knocking Sam off his feet again, followed by miserable wails and shrill screams.

“I don’t think you have a choice,” Nick stated, keeping his unyielding eyes on Sam as the screaming continued with short intervals. “We’re cleaning this place out, blowing up anything that moves, and I sincerely doubt that you’d want to stay here for when the building goes up in flames.”

Sam pressed his back into the wall, feeling it rumble slightly behind him whenever a grenade went off in the distance, while mirroring the man’s glare. He finally found something fun, something worth being bad for, but no, he couldn’t even enjoy that without these assholes ruining everything. He was pissed at them and at himself, at his powers that apparently refused to work on humans, which really sucked, because that pretty much meant he had no choice but to walk out of here at gunpoint, unless he planned on swallowing a bullet like Azazel.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t fight and run once the gun was gone from his face, as maybe his fancy supernatural powers were useless, but he was still stronger than a human thanks to all the blood he consumed. He was quite positive he could beat even Nick up if push came to shove, but for that to happen, he really needed to get rid of that damn gun somehow.

Anyway, Sam couldn’t do anything for now, so with an annoyed snarl, he reluctantly turned to the door and opened it, then nearly tripped over the corpse of a demon sprawled right in front of the room.

“Keep moving,” Nick ordered from behind him, the boy grudgingly walking down the hallway and to the front door, and then could barely stifle an impressed whistle when he stepped outside.

The garden looked like it had been subjected to a World War Two bombing, and not faring too well. There were suited bodies scattered around the lawn, floating in the small lake, even hanging from the brick wall surrounding the estate. Not all the bodies were complete, though, most actually missing a few limbs or simply rendered to a pulpy mush of gore, the grass littered with rubbery entrails and severed arms, Sam careful not to accidentally step into a piece of brain matter or eyeballs as he was led toward the gate that was now barely hanging from its hinges.

All these dead demons spilling blood onto the grass had him drooling in a matter of seconds, Sam needing to swallow down saliva as he looked around the carnage, his hunger overpowering any feeling of disgust toward the massacre laid bare before his eyes. Sure, it looked like a pack of zombies went crazy in the garden, but all his brain managed to register and care about was the copious amounts of blood he could and would gladly be slurping up if only he didn’t have a fucking gun pressed against the back of his head.

“Are you nearly done here?” he heard Nick shouting to someone, and as Sam turned his head to the left, he nearly let out an incredulous laugh when he saw Benny trudging toward them, carrying a freaking RPG and looking damn happy about it.

“Yeah, only a few left upstairs, and the maze, but Crowley just set that on fire,” Benny reported, his huge smile faltering a bit when he looked at Sam. “Why are you holding him at gunpoint…?”

“Because he’s not completely right in the head,” Nick stated, making Sam growl and glare at the man.

“I swear as soon as this shitty gun is out of the picture, I’m going to make you not right in the head. Maybe rip it off that stupid neck of yours. How would you like that, _boss_?” he hissed, drawling the last word mockingly.

Nick gave him an unimpressed look, while Benny said, “Whoa, kid gone rabid?”

“Not sure, but it seems like they really messed with his brain. Maybe even turned him into one of them…”

“Well, there’s one way to check that,” Benny said, balancing the RPG in one hand while pulling out a flask with the other, then opened the lid with his teeth before splashing a good amount of something on Sam.

“The hell?!” he snapped, wiping what seemed to be simple water from his face and glaring at the man. “Do that again and I’ll shove that RPG so far up your—”

“Alright, he’s still human. Just got a fouler mouth on him is all,” Benny observed with a smug grin as he put away the flask, then looked at the pissed off boy. “That was holy water, by the way. Harmless to humans, but is like acid to the unholy.”

“Since when did you become a priest?” Sam hissed, then received a hit with the gun to the head for it.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Nick explained as he gave him a shove. “Now let’s get to the van already. We’ve got what we came for and killed off most of the roaches, so there’s no need to stick around any longer.”

Benny nodded as he began backing away. “Got it. I’ll round up the others, should be done in a few minutes.”

“Don’t take too long.”

Sam stayed silent as they crossed the bloody garden and walked out the gate, heading toward the van parked several feet away from it; however once they reached the car, he stopped in front of the open door and turned around, fixing Nick with a defiant look.

“Azazel was right, you know?” he mentioned with scoff, lips twisting into a sneer. “I’m not the same, and don’t want to be, either. Holy water or not, I’m still not human, not the Sam you know, and as soon as you look away just for a second, I won’t have any problem snatching this gun from you and shooting you, along with this pathetic team, dead. So really, both of us would benefit from it if you’d just let me go now. And if it’s what I know that you’re worried about, if the reason you can’t let me go is because I know your faces and where you live, don’t. Just don’t, because I honestly couldn’t care less. I’ve got better plans than ratting you out, trust me.”

He raised an expectant eyebrow at the man, who watched him silently for a long moment, before sighing. “Whatever they’ve done to you seems to have gotten to your head,” he said, eyes narrowing into a harsh glare as he backed Sam into the side of the van. “You’re still a kid, no matter how overconfident you must be feeling right now. And if they turned you into a monster, well, we’ll just have to turn you back. I won’t be losing another member of my group to these…things. Not again.”

Sam blinked at the man, then let out a laugh. “Things? Really? Nick, if you wouldn’t have noticed, these things are demons! Well, were, I guess. Anyway, you can’t just turn me back or cure me, because they didn’t mess with my brain. You wanna know what happened? What I did?” he purred, grinning as he played with his tongue. “I drank their blood. Yeah, I’ve got demon blood in my system, and it has made me just as strong as them, so if you wanna turn me back, I’m pretty sure you’ll be needing a grenade for that. I already changed, there’s no going back now. This time, you’ll just have to accept defeat.”

But Nick just shook his head, his features hardening as he grabbed a hold of Sam’s arm, before brutally shoving him into the van, the boy grunting when the back of his head connected with the solid flooring. “None of that matters. All that does is that I will not let you leave, will fix you no matter what it takes. You might be a bloodthirsty, maybe even literally, monster right now, might have done some questionable things while in that putrid place, but you’re one of us. You are one of my own, and I don’t care even if you sprout wings or start howling at the moon. You hear me? I do not care, because once you enter our group, you may only ever leave by death. And I will not let you die, Samuel.”

“You only hear what you want to hear, don’t you?” Sam spat, sitting up in the back of the van and snarling at the man. “How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t fix this? I’m not sick, this is not a phase—I’m not even human, for fuck’s sake!”

“Well,” Nick said with a shrug, “we won’t know unless we try.”

Groaning in utter annoyance, Sam slowly got on his hands and knees, and was considering just diving out of the van—without getting shot, obviously—when an urging and slightly panicked voice stopped him where he was, his heart skipping a beat for a brief moment.

“Where is he?!” the disembodied voice demanded, and only a few moments later, Dean appeared at the open sliding door of the van, his face lighting up when he saw Sam kneeling in the car.

The boy was a mess. He was covered in blood, it shining on his leather jacket and clinging to his hair and sticking to his skin, his lips split and his jeans decorated with some new holes around his knees. He was holding a machete, Sam recognizing it as the one Dean had used to scare the crap out of him when they first met, however this time the weapon was slightly bent and dripping with blood, looking like it barely survived an explosion.

Dean’s grip on the machete tightened before he let go of it completely, discarding it on the ground as he hurriedly climbed into the car and took Sam’s face in his dirty hands. “Are you okay?” he asked worriedly, tucking a few strands of the other’s hair behind his ear while gazing at him searchingly. “Did they hurt you?”

All that touching irritating, Sam batted the boy’s hands away and shot him a nasty look, the baffled look on Dean’s face making him smirk. “I’m fine. Would be even better if you pricks wouldn’t have decided to stick your noses where it doesn’t belong and ruin my fun.”

“What…?” Dean furrowed his brow into a deep frown, his surprise and utter perplexity bringing a twisted sort of joy to the younger boy. “Sammy, what’s wrong? What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes. “What do you think, genius?” he scoffed, lips curling into a sneer. “I didn’t need saving. All you assholes did was ruin everything!”

The boy’s eye widened in bewilderment, tentatively reaching out toward Sam, but another voice from outside stopped him.

“Leave it, Dean,” Nick ordered, glancing between the two boys before settling his fixed gaze at the older on. “You won’t be able to get a genuine word out of him.”

“Oh no, I’m genuine,” Sam snarled. “I genuinely want to rip your fucking throats out. With my teeth.”

“The hell is going on?” Dean demanded with a low growl, sneaking a concerned glance at Sam before glaring at Nick. “What’s wrong with him?!”

But the man just shook his head and motioned for the boy to step out of the car. “I’ll explain on the way back, but for now…we need to tie Sam up.”

“Like hell you do!” he spat, baring his teeth as he slowly crawled back in the van, while keeping constant eye contact with Nick. “Just try, I dare you. You won’t get out alive.”

The perturbed boy watched him for a short while, before muttering, “This isn’t right. Sam—”

“Dean.” Nick shot him a meaningful look, eyes cold as ice. “Get out of the car. Now.”

Reluctantly and with his fists clenched, Dean did as he was told and climbed out of the car, before being led away by Nick. The man barked an order to the rest of the group presumably waiting around the car, then disappeared with the boy from Sam’s field of vision which, after a moment, was filled with a couple of familiar faces, none of which looked nice and friendly right now.

But that was fine. Sam was in the mood to inflict some pain anyway.

Benny had gotten rid of the RPG, and was now holding a thick bundle of ropes in his hands instead. Raphael and Crowley were standing next to him, all three men covered in blood as well, though not as much as Dean.

“Sorry bud,” Benny offered with a shrug as he held up the ropes. “You need to be restrained.”

Letting out an incredulous laugh, Sam curled his fingers like a predator, waiting on his hands and knees at the very back of the van. “Go ahead. Try to ‘restrain’ me, then,” he taunted with a snarl while glaring at the men in front of the open door.

Benny exchanged a look with the other two men, before carefully crawling inside the van. Sam got into a position in which he could pounce on any of them at a moment’s notice as he watched each man get inside the car. They were blocking the exit, but still keeping their distance for now, treating Sam like some cornered animal which, he supposed, is what he was.

“Come on, kid,” Crowley said with a barely visible grin, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “Just be a good little freak and let us tie you up. It won’t hurt that much if you let us do it willingly.”

He snorted. “Yeah right. How about you use that rope to hang yourself instead? Would make a nice tied beef…”

“You little—” the man growled in fury, his face reddening in anger as Sam shot him a cocky grin, but Raphael’s hand on his shoulder stopped the raging man from doing anything hasty, to the boy’s disappointment.

“Calm down,” he said, eyes holding a warning look. “Maybe you should wait outside.”

Crowley shrugged the man’s hand off. “No. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Gotta agree with you on that one,” Benny chimed in, before untangling the ropes in his hands. He then shot a surprisingly threatening look at Sam, before saying, “Don’t try to fight this too much. It would only end with more pain for you.”

“What was that?” Sam tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of your ego expanding,” he scoffed. “I mean, really? Guys, don’t tell me you truly believe it’ll be that easy to subdue me. Not after what you’ve seen today.”

“Maybe,” Benny agreed as he cautiously began closing the distance between them, “but I think in a fight of three adults against one powered-up kid, the odds are still in our favor.”

Abruptly, he lunged for Sam, but he knew the man would attack before the thought could’ve even crossed his ape mind. He moved out of the way, feeling some hidden, bloodthirsty instincts kick in as he lashed out and raked his fingers across Benny’s face, making the man hiss. The other two men caught on after a moment and joined the struggle, trying to grab a hold of him, but Sam kicked Raphael right in the chest, sending him literally flying back, and then jumped at Crowley, eager to finally give this wretched swine what he deserved—a painful death.

He punched and clawed, strangled, all the while snarling like a frenzied animal, enjoying the pained and frustrated yells and grunts Crowley made under him, the man rendered completely helpless under Sam’s supernatural strength, the sounds of bones breaking and skin ripping bouncing off the interior of the van and only riling him up more. A pair of hands on his shoulders tried to yank him off the groaning man, but Sam elbowed whoever was trying to put their disgusting paws on him before going back to exacting pain, this time wrapping his own hands around the man’s throat and squeezing, a bubble of maniacal laugh escaping him because karma was a bitch.

Then the hands came back, this time curling in his hair and snapping his head back, successfully dragging Sam off the bleeding man. He struggled and kicked, ignoring the piercing pain in his scalp as he turned around and bashed the back of Benny’s head against the van, making a painful sound when his own face met the floor over and over again, until he twisted around with incredible speed and grasped the man’s arm, then yanked on it so hard the limb popped out of its socket.

The shrill sounds of screaming and laughter reverberated around and filled the car, but then instead of laughing, Sam was choking as he saw a flash of something before his eyes before the rope was suddenly around his throat and pulling him back. Falling on his back, he went all out, writhing and struggling as he tried to release some of the rope’s pressure, in vain. He reached back and sank his nails into someone’s hands, receiving a strong blow to the head in response, then just as the rope was all of a sudden gone from around his throat, he was also thrown on his stomach and held in place with hands and knees digging into his body, Sam screaming in rage and frustration as he felt his wrists being tied behind his back. His legs still free, though, he wriggled around until he managed to pull up his knees and prop himself on them, using his torso to push everyone off as he got on his aching knees, tugging on the ropes and then, realizing they weren’t about to become magically undone, deciding to make a run for it instead.

Unfortunately, crawling on his knees wasn’t really such a fast and majestic escape, and he barely managed to get past Crowley’s unconscious form before someone grabbed the ropes and pulled him back, Sam roaring ferociously, then stopped when he got punched in the mouth. He cursed and grunted as Benny and Raphael tied him up so thoroughly he wondered if they had any BDSM experience, and by the time they were done, he was pretty sure he looked like a damn Christmas turkey. He could barely breathe, the ropes were so tight and firm around him, and when he growled and tried to blow off some steam verbally, Raphael cut off a piece of rope that remained and tied it around his mouth, gagging him.

“Shit,” Benny groaned, sniffing as he wiped some blood from his nose and then massaging his shoulder, apparently managing to put his arm back in place by himself at one point in the fight. “Didn’t think it would be this hard. Damn, Sam, you fight like a bull on steroids.”

“Remember, he’s not human,” Raphael reminded while massaging his jaw, grimacing. “At least not right now.”

Sam would have had a few pretty snappy comebacks for these assholes, but with a rope shoved between his teeth, all he could do was growl menacingly while giving them his best glare, hoping it could convey all his hatred and annoyance. The men didn’t seem too fazed by the wintry look he was giving them, however, as they just gazed at the limp form on the floor instead, both of them sighing.

“What are we supposed to do with this one?”

“Leave him here?” Benny suggested, to what the other shook his head.

“With Sam? No. That would only end with one of them dead by the time we reach the warehouse.”

“Well, this isn’t a passenger van,” he remarked, “so it’s not like they’ll be alone. We need to stay back here too.”

A third voice suddenly joined the conversation. “Are you about done with…?” Nick began, but his voice trailed off as he stepped over to the door and noticed Crowley lying on the floor of the car. “What happened?”

They all looked at Sam, who snorted with a roll of his eyes. He really would have liked to sit up, but since his ankles were fastened to his wrists, making him look like a reverse C, that proved to be pretty much impossible. Great. He loved his life.

“I see,” Nick said with a sigh after a while, before taking a step back and motioning for someone Sam couldn’t see to approach the open door. “We’re leaving now, and I want the three of you to keep an eye on Sam.”

Ruby appeared in the opening, a frown immediately wrinkling her forehead as she took in the sight of the van’s interior. “Wow, Sammy’s a beast,” she said jokingly, but it was obvious that the situation was making her uneasy, if not somewhat sad.

After she climbed in the back of the car, Benny gave Nick a questioning look. “What about Dean?”

Nick grabbed the door handle, glancing at something—or most probably someone—in the distance, before shaking his head. “He’ll be sitting in the front with me. Passenger seat. I don’t want him too close to Sam… Not now.”

“Ah, yeah,” the man said, his features softening. “I get it.”

After a moment of heavy silence, Nick shut the door and, after another while of waiting, he got behind the steering wheel, followed by Dean who slipped into the passenger seat. From where he was lying like some sausage on the floor, Sam couldn’t very much see the boy’s face, but his posture was enough to tell him Dean was tense, struggling not to look back through the wire screen and at him. And honestly, even though he was bound and gagged, he was having fun. Sure, it really sucked that they killed his demons and that they were now taking him back to that stupid warehouse, obtusely hanging onto the belief they could somehow fix him, but Dean’s suffering made all this bullshit worth it, even if only a bit. Sam could imagine how it must’ve hurt the boy, seeing the one he loved not giving a single shit about him, not having a problem with murdering him, and he couldn’t do anything to change that. And Sam wasn’t sure what he was, demon or something else, but he knew he didn’t care. He didn’t care that Dean was hurting, quite the opposite. He remembered the look of confusion in his eye, the relief of finding Sam quickly melting away and giving way to shock and disbelief, and the memory alone brought a sadistic smile to his lips. He was looking forward to toying with Dean, the boy who thought he knew it all and had Sam wrapped around his little finger. Oh how wrong he was.

And Sam was going to show him, enjoy every single second of breaking him and the rest of this childish group.

—

 

The drive back was boring. Worst road trip in his life, and it’s not like he had many.

He couldn’t talk, could hardly move, and whenever he finally managed to wriggle into a more or less comfortable position, someone was always there to shoot a warning look at him or, when he was really unlucky, push him back onto his side, which was seriously starting to hurt now, becoming numb from always staying on that side.

And okay, he got that he couldn’t talk become he was trying not to choke on that fucking rope in his mouth, but why didn’t anyone else engage in some at least mildly entertaining conversations? He was dying there, the awkward and freaking suffocating silence weighting on him like heavy bricks. Not even the radio was on, completely leaving Sam to his own thoughts, which were screaming at him to break out of these ropes and go Norman Bates on these assholes. No matter how strong he was, though, he couldn’t just snap the ropes and gnaw his way out of the van, so he had no other choice but to shut up—which wasn’t exactly optional, but he liked to pretend—and bear with the irritating silence, sometimes swearing he could hear everyone’s thoughts, the silence was driving him so mad.

When they finally got to their destination, Sam was nearly blinded by the light that came spilling into the back of the van as Nick slid open the door and let those that were capable of moving climb out, Crowley following them sluggishly after shooting a glare that was surely meant to be intimidating at Sam, but really, it just made the boy want to roll his eyes. Not really in a situation where he could hop out of the car, unless he wanted to faceplant the gravel, he waited until someone took him in their arms and carried him out of the van and into the warehouse bridal style, before placing him on the couch in the living room area and leaving him there, with supervision, of course.

“What should we do with him now? We can’t keep him tied up like that forever,” Ruby said, probably talking to Nick, as in the next second, the man answered.

“I know. For now, I think our best option is to keep him restrained…in _that_ room.”

The uneasy silence that followed that statement did not make Sam think any happy thoughts.

“Are you sure about that?” Benny’s slightly hesitant voice asked. “I mean I understand that he needs to be kept at bay, since we still have no idea what’s really going on with him, or how to turn him back to normal, but… I don’t know, boss.”

“It’s the safest place for him and for us right now,” Nick stated.

“I know…”

Some more silence, then, “Alright, let’s move him.”

He saw Benny and Raphael as they stood in front of the sofa he was lying on and trying real hard not to accidentally fall off, then made some protesting and warning sounds as they reached for him. Completely ignoring him, the men lifted him up and began carrying the pissed off and struggling boy to Nick’s office, Sam wondering how this of all the rooms in the warehouse would be considered the “safest”, but his doubts were quickly erased when Ruby pulled out a bright red book from the bookshelf behind the desk, and pressed a hidden button. Right as she did, the bookshelf began gradually sliding to the right, slowly revealing a metal door in the wall, with a round latch in its middle.

They had fucking cliché secret door behind a bookshelf…

Sam didn’t know if he should be impressed or just shake his head in disbelief.

He remained motionless as Ruby turned the latch and opened the door, not wanting to risk falling to the floor by moving around too much, then had to crane his neck a little as they walked through the doorway and into the dark room, the shadows swallowing everything up and making it nearly impossible to see anything. But only nearly, as the darkness might have defeated a pair of normal, puny human eyes, however Sam’s eyesight was much better than that of anyone else’s, so as he looked around as much as he could, he could make out a few shapes around the room, things hanging from the walls, and just as he wondered what kind of weird place they’ve brought him to, the lights flickered on and bathed the room in their faint, fluorescent glow.

Sam’s eyes widened, mouth falling open, unable to believe where he was.

The place looked like a sex torture dungeon. He never saw one before, but he guessed that if he would have, then this is exactly what it would’ve looked like. There was only one fluorescent tube lamp hanging from thin wires in the middle of the ceiling, next to two thick metal rings, it managing to illuminate the room dimly, just enough to make everything that begged to be seen visible. The walls and floor were naked cement, tall transparent cabinets lining up on both the left and right sides, filled with some of the sharpest knives and other surely horribly painful weapons. On the wall opposite the door leading to the room hung a series of heavy objects perfected for torture, chains and something that looked very much like a bear trap, only way smaller. From iron handcuffs to spiked collars, and even a whip made of freaking barbed wire, this place had it all, and suddenly, Sam wasn’t feeling that confident about his situation anymore, no matter how powerful he was.

They slowly lowered him on the floor, Raphael keeping his hands on Sam’s shoulders as he knelt on the hard cement, watching as Benny walked over to the far wall and tugged off two long chains from where they were hanging patiently, before grabbing a step ladder next to a cabinet and dragging it over to the middle of the room. He climbed on top, then fastened the chains to the rings, making sure with a few harsh tugs that they would hold. He then climbed off and put the ladder away, before picking out a pair of separated iron shackles, attaching each cuff to the end of the chains dangling from the ceiling, then took a step back and marveled at his work for a moment.

Benny looked at Sam, who was already glaring at him malignly, and flashed him an apologetic smile. “Well, you ain’t gonna like this. But you know how it is with dangerous animals—gotta keep them on a leash.”

Sam growled lowly, only proving the man’s point on “dangerous animals”, then bit down on the rope in his mouth as he saw Benny take out one of the lethal-looking daggers from a cabinet, eyes narrowing to slits when he closed in on him and began cutting away at the rough cords. He wrenched the rope out of his mouth as soon as his hands were free, Sam noticing just how bruised his wrists were, his relentless struggles resulting in the binds rubbing against his sensitive skin and discoloring it so much he couldn’t help but hiss when he touched them.

“Ready?” Benny asked, and when no answer came, Sam looked up to find the man staring at him, the question apparently aimed at him.

Licking his horribly dry lips, he frowned. “What? You expect me to simply waltz over there so you could chain me up? I mean don’t get me wrong, I appreciate how you guys are finally taking me seriously and all, but I ain’t going to just go along with whatever genius ideas your empty heads come up with,” he stated firmly. “If you want me in chains that bad, you’ll just have to fight me again.”

“Baby beast can’t be tamed, huh?” the man said jokingly, his stupid remarks he must have surely thought were all witty and shit really starting to get on Sam’s nerves, making him regret he didn’t rip Benny’s tongue out back in the van.

Ah well, live and learn.

The two men exchanged a look, probably realizing they weren’t going to get Sam to comply anytime soon, then moved to scoop him up from the floor, which was a really bad decision from their part. Having some pent-up rage from being tied up for hours, he didn’t hesitate to lash out the moment the men got close enough; however, lost in his eagerness to put up a fight, he forgot that remaining motionless in an uncomfortable position meant his limbs wouldn’t be able to work properly, and so when he tried to jump to his feet and slip past Benny, instead of doing that, Sam’s legs wobbled under him, then gave out, making for a rather awkward fall back onto the floor.

Without wasting a moment, they grabbed a hold of him, Sam snarling and struggling, but his body was weak from being kept in that crappy position for too long, and before he could’ve done anything, his aching wrists were already being enveloped by cold iron, and that was it. His arms were chained to the ceiling, stretched above his head, not enough to hurt as he could still bend his elbows, but enough that he knew that it wouldn’t be long before the blood was going to drain from his arms and render his stay in this new room agonizing, if only from discomfort and annoyance.

“There.” Benny dusted his hands in a satisfied manner, a smirk creeping onto his face as Sam leveled a glare at him. “Oh, don’t give me that sour look. This was necessary. At least now you won’t be squirming around so much, putting both us and yourself in harm’s way.”

He let out an incredulous snort. “Really? Sorry, but I don’t see how chaining me up could solve this little problem that happens to be me. I mean, what’s this place anyway?” he asked with a scoff, studying the room, before raising a questioning eyebrow at the man. “A fancy torture dungeon?”

“Actually, that’s pretty close,” Benny answered, shrugging and placing his hands on his hips. “We rarely use it, though. Remember how we threatened you before? How, if you were to rat us out to the police, we’d find you and do some bad, bad things to you?”

“How could I ever forget?” he said disinterestedly.

“Right, well, this is where those that don’t heed our generous advice find themselves,” the man continued. “They spend the remaining time of their lives learning the very important lesson that crossing or deceiving us would only result in a lot of pain. And of course, death.”

“Sounds like fun. Will you teach me a lesson as well, hmm?” Sam teased, tugging on the chains for show and flashing a mischievous smirk at Benny. “Will torturing me be your flawless plan on fixing me?”

The man shook his head and returned Sam’s smirk. “No. For now, I think we’ll just…leave you hangin’.”

“Ha-ha, how incredibly funny,” he stated, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he glared at them, said glare only intensifying when he realized the man wasn’t actually joking. “Wait, seriously? You really are just going to leave me here? Have you never heard of the saying ‘ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away’?”

“We won’t be ignoring you, Sam,” Raphael commented, unperturbed. “This is just a temporary solution, until we figure out what do to.”

“Well, I wish you the best of luck with that,” he sneered, Sam standing with his head held high, his contemptuous grin widening when he saw the frown on their faces as they exchanged a look, before turning around and walking out of the room without another word.

They then turned off the only light brightening the place and pushed the heavy door shut, enclosing Sam in total, deadly silent darkness, leaving the boy with only his thoughts to entertain himself.

 


	17. Get Your Freak On

 

His eyes got used to the darkness surprisingly fast. Well, no, it really wasn’t that much of a surprise, considering he was a…whatever he was.

Sam stood in the middle of the black sea of the room, swinging his numb arms left and right, bored little sighs escaping him more and more frequently as the minutes trickled by. They might have told him they wouldn’t be doing any torture, but this alone time was torture in its own way, making each passing second unbearable, the deafening silence slowly driving him mad. His elevated senses only added to his suffering, the only sounds reaching his ears being the continual black noise, along with the rattle of chains, the even thumps of his heartbeat, and his breathing, all of these made uncomfortably loud in the quiet room.

Honestly, what did they expect was going to happen? It really just looked to Sam like they were stalling, not wanting to accept that he wasn’t a part of their little crime family anymore. Heck, he wasn’t even human anymore, which was all the more reason for them to let him go. At least, it should’ve been, but it seemed that Nick was bent on keeping him.

It was ridiculous. Pathetic. They were merely hanging onto the memory of him, too blinded by it to see the truth right in front of their eyes. The truth, which was that as soon as Sam was going to get out of these stupid chains, he’d grab one of those pretty knives and turn this place into a slaughterhouse. It was one thing, tying him up, but now that they went this far, as if Sam was just their little pet monster, now that was too much. It was degrading and simply infuriating, and the more time passed, the more gruesome his fantasies about murder became, the twisted scenarios his dark mind came up with making him lick his lips in sadistic anticipation, and an insatiable thirst for blood.

It was only after three hours of nothing, of silent solitude for him to stew in his own juices, that Sam realized that the thirst from his fantasies wasn’t one. He was truly thirsty for something, and it didn’t take him long to realize that it was demon blood he craved.

He tried to ignore it, at first. It was only making his stay here that much more intolerable, so Sam concentrated on his revenge instead, coming up with one escape plan after another. And while that worked for a while, the thirst managed to burrow itself deep inside his brain, rendering all thoughts of distraction completely useless, and then it wasn’t long before he could hear his pulse quickening, along with his breathing.

His body began trembling with need, the kind of strong, inescapable and uncontrollable need that came with this overpowering thirst. It attacked him in waves—one moment, he was fine, his chest heaving as he tried to relax his tensed muscles, and the next he was gripping the chains and growling, gritting his teeth so hard they hurt.

He’s never been addicted to something before, not even after getting a taste of how peaceful a heroin high was, but now as he stood there, Sam knew that they were right when people said that withdrawal was a cruel mistress.

Even now, he couldn’t help but groan as he tugged on the chains, yanking on them in frustration and letting his head fall forward, and then he must have passed out for a moment, because the next time he opened his eyes, Sam realized with slight surprise he wasn’t alone anymore.

Blinking dazedly, he raised his gaze to Dean’s expressionless face, the boy letting go of his chin which he was apparently holding when they made eye contact.

“Brought you some water,” he said in a toneless voice, his whole demeanor bleak, as if he was too afraid to show his emotions, that realization making Sam want to tease him.

Dean lifted a glass of water to Sam’s lips, but instead of opening his mouth obediently, he glanced at the glass, then chuckled. “Nah thanks. I’d much rather drink some demon blood…”

Seemingly unfazed by Sam’s comment, the boy grabbed a hold of the other’s jaw and pressed hard, forcing his mouth open. “Sorry, no more of that shit from now on,” he muttered, letting some of his anger creep into his voice while nearly choking Sam with the water.

Sputtering and coughing when Dean finally let go of him, he watched as the boy turned his back to him and began walking out the room; however just before he could’ve left, he halted in his steps when Sam said, “Is this how you’re gonna be now? A coward, too afraid to look me in the eye now that your sweet little Sammy is gone?”

Dean’s shoulders tensed, Sam noticing as each muscle stiffened, and then the boy surprised him by shattering the glass against the floor as he came stomping back with a snarl on his face, the younger boy grinning when the other grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him closer. “Shut the fuck up,” Dean growled, fingers tightening in Sam’s shirt. “You’re not—”

“Not Sam?” he cut him off, finishing the boy’s sentence for him with a sneer. “Is that what you wanted to say? Is _that_ how delusional you are?”

He watched as Dean clenched his jaw, so painfully obviously struggling to keep himself together, before letting go of him with a hard shove. “I know you. I know this is not you. I don’t care what you say, because I know,” he hissed through gritted teeth, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh.

“You don’t know shit, Dean,” he spat, grin widening into something twisted as he saw the look on the other’s face. “And you do care. Oh, you care a lot, isn’t that right? You’re scared that the innocent little brat you fell in love with is gone forever.”

“He’s not gone,” Dean snarled, stepping closer and completely breaching Sam’s personal space. “You’re just under the influence of this fucking demon blood or whatever. Something happened to you, something changed you, but that won’t last long, I can promise you that.”

“But that’s all you do!” Sam exclaimed, an incredulous laugh escaping him. “That’s what all of you do. You promise, you threaten, you say how you’re gonna turn me back, but what have you achieved? What do you have to show for all your empty promises? Nothing, Dean! Nothing. I’m still the way I am, and no matter how much you desperately hope that’ll change, it won’t. It just won’t.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” Dean argued lowly, still clinging onto this idiotic fantasy that everything will be fine, and no matter how amusing that was, his obstinacy was also starting to piss Sam off.

Rolling his eyes, he fixed the boy with a cold look. “Why the hell do you have a working eye if you can’t even see what’s going on right in front of you? How many times do I have to repeat it—this is who I am now, what I am. That’s it, really, whether you like it or not.”

“What you don’t seem to understand,” Dean said with a determined glare, “is that I don’t give a rat’s ass what you believe. Fuck this crazy world and what is and isn’t possible. Only a week ago, I learned that goddamn monsters existed, that those who we were working for _were_ monsters, so I’m not going to take anything for granted anymore. Everything is possible in this world gone mad, so you can bet that this little condition of yours ain’t gonna stop me! I will not lose you to this, Sam. I won’t let it take you from me, I just won’t… Be it Heaven or Hell, an army of monsters or you yourself, I won’t let anything get between us, will go knockin’ on Death’s door myself if that’s what I need to do to make you better. I really don’t care, so you can go ahead and spout your bullshit about the impossible all you want, because I don’t give a damn; because there is no such thing as impossible anymore.”

Sam watched him for a long moment, before shaking his head with a scoff. “What a moving and pitiful speech. I’m impressed you didn’t break down crying halfway through it,” he taunted, pleased when he saw the twitch of Dean’s eyelid, the way his fists trembled slightly at his sides. “You must have been very lonely before you guys murdered my dad and kidnapped me if you’re willing to go that far. So lonely and pathetic…” He trailed off, before a depraved grin stretched his lips. “I bet your mom was glad when they took her from you, finally free from her whiny excuse of a son.”

He knew it was going to happen, but that didn’t stop Sam from wincing when Dean suckerpunched him, then letting out a pained hiss when his hair got grabbed and pulled on, the boy yanking his head so far back he thought for a moment that his neck was going to snap.

“How fucking dare you say that?!” he snapped, suddenly wrapping his free hand around Sam’s throat and squeezing until he was barely able to breathe anymore, but even like that, he couldn’t wipe the fiendish smile from his face. “You’re really fucked in the head, aren’t you?” Dean snarled as the other choked out a laugh.

Wheezing a bit when the boy finally let go of him, Sam got a fun idea and licked his lips seductively as he ran his hands as far up the chains as he could, stretching his body like a cat. “Maybe you should punish me for being a naughty boy, then,” he purred, eyes narrowing temptingly. “Put me in my place.”

Dean bared his teeth, Adam’s apple rising and falling deliciously as he swallowed. “Don’t test me,” he warned deeply, the sound sending a familiar and pleased shiver down Sam’s spine, making him bite down his bottom lip while baring his throat.

“Why not?” he asked teasingly, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Afraid you’ll break me, Dean? ‘Coz if yes, don’t worry… This me won’t break that easily.”

He let out a small, self-satisfied chuckle when Dean growled and attacked his neck, gladly noting with a groan that the boy wasn’t being gentle about it, either. His fingers tangled in Sam’s hair, keeping his head in place, and Dean sank his teeth in his throat, biting and nipping roughly at the sensitive skin, the younger boy’s eyes fluttering shut, moaning lightly when teeth finally broke skin and he could feel his warm blood trickling down his neck.

“Dean,” he drawled, holding onto the chains with his mouth hanging open as the boy continued his assault on Sam’s neck, lapping at the blood and the wounds he made, before making some new ones, not even bothering to be the least bit tender or considerate as he bit harshly into the other’s flesh, making him shudder and arch his back.

Watching the boy with desirous eyes as he pulled back and licked his bloody lips, that sight alone making Sam lick his own, he felt his body come alive when Dean’s expression darkened, turning into something irresistibly corrupt. “Does the pain turn you on…?” he asked in slight wonder as his eye roamed the other’s body, gaze stilling on the tent in the younger boy’s pants before wandering back to his face. “It does, doesn’t it?”

Sam answered with a wicked grin, impatiently tugging on the chains as he fixed Dean with an intense look. They kept staring at each other for a short while, the room as if rising in temperature as each painstaking, heavy second went by, before the boy must have snapped, the thrill of what this could turn into winning him over as he stepped forward and closed any distance between them, aggressively placing a hand over Sam’s bulge and giving it a harsh squeeze.

“Ah, fuck…” he hissed, a tiny gasp leaving him when Dean bit down on his ear.

“Is this what you want, Sammy?” the boy asked roughly, growling the deep words in his ear while tightening his hold on the other’s clothed erection. “Want me to hurt you bad?”

A violent shiver rippled though Sam’s body, pushing a breathy moan out of him. “Yeah, yes. Dean, do it… Hurt me, come on, know you want to.”

Giving one last, brutal squeeze to his bulge, Dean pulled away and walked behind him, leaving Sam panting in anticipation and curious, listening to the rustle of something soft and the clanking of iron. It wasn’t long before the boy came back, stopping behind him, and Sam’s whole body tensed as he felt tiny spikes, thin like needles, sink into his skin as Dean put a heavy, metal collar around his throat, its interior apparently lined with a series of spikes, their tips forcing their way into the younger boy’s already abused flesh.

“Oh god…” Sam whined, the pain each breath made him experience sending blood rushing to his hardening dick, the pain indeed turning him on. He let out a shaky exhale, dilated eyes widening as Dean he walked into his field of vision and held up a chain connected to the collar, the vicious grin spreading across his face drawing a small sound from him.

“Want pain?” he asked, voice thick with honey-like lust as he raised the chain in his hand. “I’ll give you pain, baby.”

Sam cried out, the sound that left him resembling a high-pitched whimper as Dean yanked on the chain, driving the spikes in the collar further into the other’s flesh, piercing his skin until countless lines of thick, rich blood were running down the nape of his neck, dirtying his shirt. It was incredible, the pain never feeling as good as this before while he was human, Sam pretty sure the demon blood has managed to somehow turn him into a goddamn masochist, but he couldn’t care, too high on pleasure to give a fuck.

“More,” he found himself whispering, heaving as he raised his head to look at Dean, a carnal smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he licked them. “You can do better than that, De… Hurt me more, come on…”

“Fuck,” the boy growled, giving another fierce tug to the chain, and earning a groan of twisted pain-pleasure from Sam, before letting the chain fall from his hand as he disappeared back behind the other; however he didn’t have to wait long before he felt something sharp and cold on the skin on his back, ripping away at the fabric of his shirt.

“Hey, I liked that shirt,” Sam said with a bratty laugh, followed by a silent hiss when Dean nicked his skin with the knife on purpose, before cutting his shirt away completely, moving the tattered fabric out of the way so they hung loosely on the younger boy’s shoulders.

His breath hitched as his head was yanked back, whimpering when the spikes clawed at his skin and shivering when Dean snarled, “I’ll gag you if you don’t shut that arrogant mouth of yours.”

“You like it,” Sam purred in response, leaning into the boy’s merciless hold with a cocky grin on his face. “Love it when I tell you to keep going. Bet you wanna hear me beg for more, don’t ya? I will, you know…that is, if you can make me.”

The boy growled like a savage, tightening his grip on the other’s hair. “Little brat,” he breathed against Sam’s shoulder. “I’m gonna make you fucking scream.” Dean slowly slid the edge of the knife down his spine while talking, making him arch his whole body as the cold blade made the hair on his arms and neck stand on end, goosebumps breaking out on his skin, Sam even able to feel as his nipples hardened.

When Dean pulled the knife away without even cutting him, Sam was about to start complaining and calling the boy names, but then he felt something much softer against his back, his eyes going plate-sized as he realized what it was, that realization making his body tremble in excitement and the slightest hint of nervousness.

“Ready?” Dean purred, then without waiting for an answer, he brought down the leather flogger on his back, drawing a surprised gasp from Sam, and before he could’ve collected himself, the whip was back on his skin, the pain biting and burning, piercing and perfect.

“Oh fu—Dean!!” Sam cried out loudly, throwing his head back and whining when that caused him even more pain. He gasped and let out some screams that were very close to wanton mewls instead, his muscles tensing and body rocking each time Dean whipped him with the flogger, the leather surely leaving some pretty red marks on his skin, though he couldn’t feel any blood, so maybe the boy wasn’t going all out after all. Still, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. It did, a lot, even though Sam’s pain tolerance was higher than as a human. Pain shot up and through his entire body as Dean flogged him, landing several hits in one area, before moving to another one and caressing the skin, giving it a few flails, then some stronger ones, until he was back to whipping Sam again.

Shameless and honestly not bothered if anyone were to hear them—since yeah, the door was still pretty open—Sam let out one loud, sharp cry after another, arms shaking as he held onto the chains and chest heaving rapidly as he panted, taking in harsh and quick breaths when he wasn’t busy moaning and screaming until his throat turned sore.

When it seemed like he was about to collapse and just let his body hang from the chains keeping him upright, Dean stopped and ran his now free hands down Sam’s oversensitive and aching back, earning a wounded little whimper from him. “Painful enough for you?” he asked, wrapping his arms around the other from behind and pulling him into a hug, the way Dean’s shirt brushed against the searing wounds on his back making the younger boy flinch.

“Y-Yeah…” he mumbled, feeling rather lightheaded, then was pretty sure he literally purred when the boy began nuzzling his cheek and placing feathery kisses on it, Sam surprised by his own reaction as he hummed in delight from the attention.

Noticing his sudden acceptance of fond touches, Dean smiled against his skin. “Sammy,” he mouthed, carefully removing the collar from around Sam’s neck and letting the thing fall to the floor with a clatter, before showering the other’s bleeding neck with light kisses and kitten licks, soft and caring, and Sam couldn’t help but melt right there.

Mind still in the clouds, he needed a moment to realize he was liking this too much, liking gentle too much, and just as he began wondering why he wasn’t laughing at Dean’s loving caresses instead, his whole body froze, before he let out a scream of real, excruciating pain.

Jolting back in shock, Dean immediately materialized in front of him, one eye wide and full of worry and slight confusion as he tried to make sense of the situation. “Sam?! Sam, what’s wrong?” he asked, but his voice was drowned out by Sam’s own yells.

“Make it stop, oh god! Dean, help—” he shouted, before getting cut off by his own cry of pain, his body breaking out in cold sweat and drenching him in a matter of seconds. He knew exactly what was going on, but since talking was pretty much impossible right now, he decided to just stick to screaming instead. This was withdrawal, however so much worse than the last time he felt it. This time, it felt like his veins were being pulled out of his limbs, like his blood was flowing backwards, his head thumping so hard and loudly Sam was certain it was going to explode. He was crying, not sure how much time has passed before he started crying because now Benny, Ruby and Nick were in the room too, shouting something but a loud sound made it hard to hear them, Sam needing a second to realize that loud sound was him, screeching like a wild animal.

By the time the agonizing, torturous pain stopped, his hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead, his body assaulted by fierce shivers and his ears ringing, Sam feeling so nauseous and drained he wouldn’t even have minded if he lost consciousness right about now. Slowly, he opened his eyes he didn’t remember closing, and looked up at the group having a panicked argument not too far from him, their voices quieting down when they realized the screaming has stopped.

“Sam!” Dean was the first to rush over to him, seemingly hesitant to even touch him in fear he might wither or something, then settled for simply running his fingers through Sam’s mess of a hair, watching him with a concerned frown etched onto his face. “Sammy, are you alright? What happened? Can you talk?”

Standing up straight after a few failed attempts, Sam coughed a bit and cleared his throat, then shook Dean’s pushy hand off his head and sighed. “Nothin’, I’m fine now…”

“That wasn’t ‘nothing’,” Nick stated as he stepped forward, arms folded in front of his chest as he regarded Sam with curious, intent eyes. “You were having a fit, Sam. No, that wasn’t even a fit, it was… I don’t know what, but it was serious.”

“Yeah, it looked like someone was torturing you,” Ruby pointed out, then after a glance at Dean, she added, “and not in a fun way.”

Ignoring the woman’s comment, Dean fixed Sam with a demanding look. “Something was definitely messing with you, Sam. Hurting you in ways I can’t even imagine, but it had to be bad, judging from the way you were hollering like someone was skinning you alive. So come on, tell me what’s going on,” he said, jaw a hard line as he stared at the other. “This is serious, so no more attitude.”

Sam held the boy’s gaze for a while, before averting his eyes with a sigh, knowing that he was fighting a losing battle anyway. He didn’t particularly feel like revealing the reason behind his meltdown, but then again, what harm could telling them about it do?

So after a reluctant glance around the room and the people occupying it, he put on an indifferent look and said, “It was the demon blood. Been a while since I had any, so I’m going through withdrawal. And its symptoms are…kinda extreme.”

“Wait, you’re actually addicted to that stuff?” Dean blurted in disbelief, to what Sam just snorted.

“Yeah, it’s much better than heroin,” he stated, then grinned as he gave the boy a scornful look. “Better than anything I’ve ever felt…”

Pleased how that made Dean’s lips twist into a slight snarl, Sam let his grin turn into a smug little smirk, but his attention was soon drawn by Nick who was stroking his chin, appearing to be deep in thought, before an alarming smile crossed his face.

“So,” he said with a pinch of optimism, “you’re saying the demon blood is slowly leaving your system, and that’s why you were acting as if possessed?”

Sam rolled his eyes, unaware of what Nick was getting at yet. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Only a few hours have passed, but you’re already having withdrawal problems. I wonder what would happen if we were to wait for a while longer.”

“What am I, some fucking test subject?” Sam hissed, shooting a glare the man’s way. “You gonna put me under a microscope now, poke me until something happens?”

Nick shook his head, Sam feeling a strange dread as the man’s smile widened a bit. “No. What we are going to do, however, is leave you here until all the demon blood has left your system. Until you’re clean, and hopefully back to human.”

“Wait, you can’t be seriously thinking this could turn me back…!” Sam scoffed, but he wasn’t feeling as confident about his situation as before. He’s been feeling things that he hasn’t in a while, so the possibility that Nick was actually right was there, which made his stomach twist and turn in anxiety—yet another thing he wasn’t supposed to be feeling.

Crap, this wasn’t good.

“It has potential,” Nick remarked, before turning to look at Dean, his smile vanishing. “I want you to keep an eye on him. After witness what just happened, going cold turkey won’t be easy for Sam, so he needs supervision.” His eyes hardened warningly. “Don’t think I’m giving you the permission to play around with him like you apparently did before, though.”

Dean nodded his head while rubbing the back of his neck, that little motion being the only sign he might have felt slightly flustered. “Got it,” he said, stepping back as Nick walked past him toward the door, shortly followed by Ruby, who gave them a quick wink.

“Be good, boys,” she said, then was out the door, leaving the two of them alone once again.

Fortunately, Dean wasn’t about to prolong his suffering either, as he also wandered over to the door as soon as the others left, but before he reached it, he turned around and flashed a small smile at Sam.

“Don’t think I’m going anywhere,” he informed to the younger boy’s demise, his smile widening when Sam sighed. “Just going to get some stuff is all.”

“You do know that I don’t need you babysitting me, right? I’m perfectly capable of getting through this by myself. I don’t want to, but since I doubt I’ve got any other choice,” he said, rattling the chains for emphasis, “I guess I have to. Though I’d much rather do it alone.”

“Oh really? I thought you liked my company…” Dean said teasingly, gaze lowering to Sam’s crotch and making him quite uncomfortable.

“Yeah, well you’re fun enough as a wind-up toy, but that’s it,” he said with a shrug, unable to look at the other for some reason, aforementioned reason becoming clear when he did finally shift his eyes toward the boy and saw him glaring with a challenging fire dancing in his eye, it sending a familiar shiver down Sam’s spine.

“We’ll see about that,” Dean stated determinedly, then before the other could’ve said anything, maybe laugh at his efforts at trying to appear tough, he was already out the room, shutting the door behind him.

Sam gazed into the darkness with a sigh, shivering from the feel of the cold air of the chamber against the burning, pulsing skin on his naked back.

This was going to be an interesting few hours.

—

 

“Hey, careful!” Sam hissed, gritting his teeth while fighting the urge to duck his head to escape the wet fabric. “It stings.”

“Told you it would, and I’m being as gentle here as I can. Not my fault you can’t handle pain as much as you thought you could,” Dean stated with a small grin, obviously enjoying the other’s discomfort.

Dean had come back after around fifteen minutes, carrying a smaller bucket filled with water and a white towel in each hand, announcing how he was going to clean Sam, who mocked the boy’s strange caring attitude right after whipping him, but unfortunately Dean had learned to ignore his comments, making teasing him less fun.

The bucket was on the floor, close to his legs, the temptation to just kick it over and ruin Dean’s efforts great, but at the same time, Sam didn’t fancy letting his new wounds get infected just because he wanted to be a dick to the boy. So instead he let the other take care of him, biting down on the inside of his cheek each time a chill ran across his body when the cold, wet towel touched his wounded neck.

Dean stayed silent as he slowly, almost fearfully dabbed the towel against Sam’s skin, the white fabric quickly gaining a pinkish color from all the dried blood sticking to his neck and shoulders, a few lines even trickling down his back and chest from some of the bigger wounds. The boy seemed regretful. It was pretty clear from the way he cleaned Sam, the way concentration was etched onto his face, along with care and concern, with maybe a hint of shame. And as Sam watched him, felt the light caress of his fingertips brushing over cleaned wounds, his mind simply couldn’t come up with any degrading remarks, the silence filling the room more pleasant and relaxing rather than awkward.

His whole neck was starting to hurt now, the pain slowly seeping back into his system despite Dean’s gentleness, the aching throbs a continuous reminder of the horrifying state the skin on his neck must have been in. That pain worsened, though, when the boy moved behind him and began cleaning his back, Sam unable to stifle his shuddering gasp or stop himself from flinching.

“It’s okay, I know it hurts,” Dean said in a low, soothing voice, using his hand that wasn’t brushing the towel against the trembling boy’s back to stroke his arm. “Just a bit more, alright? Just take it for a while longer, you can do it.”

Sam’s head fell forward, eyes shut tight and shying away from the towel when it touched one particularly searing wound. “Ow,” he informed, muscles straining as he clutched the chains. “Stop…”

“Sorry, can’t yet,” the boy said as if apologetic, switching to the dry side of the towel which Sam despised the most, the cotton feeling rough against his sensitive skin and making him emit a tiny whimper, then another when he felt soft lips grazing against an uninjured part of the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, placing several fond kisses on that spot. “I’m sorry it hurts.”

Eyes slowly fluttering open, Sam sighed contently. “S’fine. I liked it,” he muttered, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced back at the other over his shoulder. “And you did too, so no need to pretend you regret it.”

“I’m not pretending,” Dean stated, tossing the towel into the bucket before walking back in front of Sam with a serious look on his face. “I admit it was…fun, but I went too far. I wasn’t thinking, got too carried away, didn’t realize the one I was hurting wasn’t just your annoying, smug self, but also…”

“Also what?” he raised an eyebrow, cocking his head. “You’re feeling sad ‘cause you hurt your sweet, naïve, fragile little Sammy?” He scoffed. “Hypocrite. Where was this regret when you nearly strangled me? When you used a machete on me?”

“That was before,” the boy insisted, furrowing his brow as he averted his gaze for a moment. “I know I was an ass. I didn’t feel much toward you back then, so I didn’t let what I did to you bother me. But not anymore,” he said and looked back at the other. “I love you, Sam. It’s an unhealthy, fucked up love I’ve got for you, but it’s there, and no matter how much I like to tease you, causing you real pain isn’t the same as before. I don’t want to. I wanna make you smile, not cry…”

Sam let out an incredulous sound. “That’s all nice and adorable, but maybe you shouldn’t have whipped me then,” he spat derisively. “We both know that, no matter how much you _love_ me, you’ve still got that dark side in you that wants to cause pain. A side that would get off on the sight of me crying because of you.”

“No,” Dean answered too quickly, shaking his head, but then apparently changed his mind and gave Sam a somewhat defeated look. “Maybe. Yeah, maybe I do, but not with you. Not this side of you.”

“Aw, so it’s not fun enough if I’m okay with it?” Sam sneered. “Want me to fight it? To look scared and beg for you to stop, is that it?” he asked before letting out a laugh. “Wow, you really are one twisted son of a bitch.”

He watched in glee as Dean clenched his fists, a snarl twisting his lips as he took a barely visible step toward the restrained boy. “Funny hearing that from you; from the very person who moaned from the feeling of fucking spikes poking holes in his neck,” he growled, then managed to calm himself down a bit as he sighed. “It’s not that I want you scared. I want you to want it, I do…but not like this.”

“Ah, I see. So basically you are saying that you’re the only one allowed to be a jerk,” Sam said with a smirk, to what the boy shrugged.

“I guess I am.”

He rolled his eyes, his smirk turning into a soft smile. “Jerk…”

Dean chuckled, raising a hand to Sam’s cheek and caressing him. “Luckiest one alive.”

Blinking, Sam lowered his gaze to the floor as he felt himself blush. “Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled, then shot a glare at the boy when he laughed.

“’Yeah, whatever’?” Dean grinned. “I think you’re turning back to your normal self.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he scoffed, huffing as he turned his head to the side, before coughing.

He then coughed again, and again, and aw crap, not again.

“Sam?” The boy placed a hand on his head, but Sam quickly shook it off, beginning to shake and pant. “Oh no…”

Sam would have loved to blame Dean for what was happening, but he was too busy groaning in pain as another wave of the withdrawal hit him like a wild ocean, slamming against him and clawing at his insides, though at least this time he wasn’t seizing. That did not mean he wasn’t in a great deal of fucking pain, it ripping through him like a meat grinder, making him scream and yank on the chains uselessly.

When the pain subsided, Sam was left heaving and sweating like he just ran a marathon and won, and just as he raised his head, he saw Dean walking back into the room, apparently leaving it at one point while Sam was having his moment.

“What happened to ‘not leaving my side’?” he inquired with a weak grin as the boy stepped up to him.

“I didn’t, but then thought I should get this,” he said, raising a small yellow bottle. “This might help with the withdrawal and…well, with this whole situation, really.”

“An energy drink?” Sam gave him a questioning look as he glanced at the bottle, before frowning. “Or what is that?”

It was small, as big as the boy’s palm, Sam squinting to get a better look at it when he raised the bottle. Yellow, with big red letters reading “Rush” on it, he only needed a few seconds of inspection to know that this was anything but an energy drink—especially when he noticed the words “liquid incense” on the bottom.

Looking back at Dean, he asked warily, “Uh, you trying to roofie me or something…?”

Dean shook his head no, laughing. “I remembered we had these in the med room. They’re obviously not meant for medical use, but they’re good at relaxing the muscles, so we sometimes use them when removing a bullet for example,” he explained as he twisted off the cap of the small bottle, then shook it playfully in front of Sam. “You’re supposed to inhale it. As much as you can.”

Sam glanced between the bottle and the boy for a long moment, hesitating as this didn’t look the least bit innocent at all, definitely suspicious and having the potential of being some sort of drug. “I don’t know. I think I’ll stick with the pain, thanks.”

“Oh come on, where did all that bravery go?” Dean taunted, raising the other’s chin. “Or are you a coward now?”

“Not wanting to sniff some weird liquid that could very well be petrol or some shit don’t mean I’m a coward,” Sam hissed, then did something very close to a pout. “But fine…”

Dean flashed him a satisfied grin. “Great,” he said as he raised the bottle to the other’s nose, Sam scowling when the boy pressed a finger down on one of his nostrils, and placed the bottle under the other. “Now take a deep breath.”

Still having his doubts about this, but not wanting to back out now and give any reasons for Dean to accuse him of cowardice, he complied and inhaled deeply. Right away, the sweet aroma of the liquid filled him and went straight to his head, and when the bottle was moved to his other nostril, Sam was eager to breathe it in, welcoming the scent and the calm it brought with itself. He relaxed, both mentally and physically, watching as the boy pocketed the bottle before placing a kiss on Sam’s cheek.

“Good?” he asked while caressing the other’s cheek, his fingers feeling sorta ticklish and pleasant, making Sam lean into the touch with a slow sigh.

“Mhm…yeah,” he breathed, feeling lightheaded and warm and just intense, shivering when Dean began playing with his hair.

“Told you it would help,” the boy purred, the close and smooth voice ripping a slight moan from Sam, who closed his eyes and relished in the soft touches, the tender kisses. “Want some more?” Dean mumbled against his mouth, and he nodded sluggishly, eyes opening lazily and gazing at the other as he pulled out the bottle and moved it back to Sam’s nose, the younger boy wasting no time before taking strong and deep inhales.

He was completely relaxed, body lax and seeking the warmth of Dean’s hands, a satisfied little smile crossing his face as he was hugged and could bury his face in the boy’s chest, nuzzling him affectionately while he petted his head, stroked his side.

“That’s it, good boy,” Dean praised, making him whimper and tug on the chains, desperately needing more contact which he thankfully got when the hands on his body slid down to his ass, fondling it with thorough gropes and caresses.

His palms clammy, they slid on the chains as he gripped them and pressed his forehead against the boy’s chest, keening. “Dean, Dean please, I… Dean,” he sighed, his breath hitching when a hand slipped into his pants and went for his hole right away, teasing and circling it with a finger and successfully making him go crazy.

Dean let out a short chuckle as Sam pushed back against his finger, body trembling ever so lightly. “Shh baby, you’re doing so good. Nice and relaxed, right?” he purred between kisses with which he was showering the other’s head, before very slowly pushing the finger teasing his small, but slack hole inside.

Sam gasped, eyes widening before fluttering shut as the finger slid inside with surprising ease, whatever this incense was apparently helping relax the muscles of his hole as well. Without the painful burn, the way that finger curled and twisted, slid in and out of him was amazing, pushing tiny mewls and needy whines past his parted lips, Sam’s heart bleeding because he needed more, so much more, but he was in chains and couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t grab Dean, couldn’t kiss him…couldn’t wrap his arms around him and never let go.

Then it all became so much worse when the boy removed his finger, withdrawing his hand from the other’s pants, but quickly comforting Sam and hugging him close while minding the wounds on his back when he began whimpering. “Sammy,” Dean whispered his name with utmost adoration, nearly resulting in the panting boy breaking down. “When this is all over, I will make love to you. I’ll take you to my room and not come out for days, love you until you’re drowning in it, until you can’t take it anymore, until I’m all you’ll ever want and need. I love you Sam, you have no idea how much, and I wanna prove that to you over and over again… I miss you.”

At those words, and at how broken the last three sounded, he couldn’t help but push himself closer to the boy, ignoring the pain in his neck as the wounds grazed against the other’s chest. “Dean, me too,” he mumbled, sniffling because tears were already welling up in his eyes, some escaping and wetting the boy’s shirt. “Love you too, so much, Dean I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Sam’s arms hurt, stretched as he forced himself to lean closer even as the shackles around his wrists were protesting and biting into his skin, but he was too far gone to care. Too aware, his immunity to feeling gradually falling away, the blood wall in his head and around his heart cracking and making him wish it wouldn’t, because he didn’t think he would survive coming face to face with what he did while under the influence of demon blood.

He was a freak and he would’ve deserved to be hated for his actions, despised for them, but instead, Dean just held him tighter and wouldn’t stop whispering sweet nothings in his ear, promising and reassuring him that it was fine, everything would be fine, they would be fine—that he loved him more than the Earth loved the Sun.

It was a while until he finally managed to calm down, but when he did, Dean was there to wipe his tears away and kiss him, fondly and delicately like he was something precious. “Feeling better?” he asked after a few more small, quick kisses that had Sam blushing and feeling a tad bit giddy.

“I’m…y-yeah. Better,” he said with a little nod, his chest tightening when he saw Dean’s warm, relieved smile.

The boy pressed one last, lingering kiss on his forehead before pulling back. “I’ll get some cream for your wounds, okay?” he said, as if needing to make sure Sam knew exactly why he was leaving.

“Thank you,” Sam murmured with a faint smile of his own, before watching Dean’s back as he left the room, his eyes still staring at the empty doorway long after the boy was already gone.

And then he closed his eyes, fighting nausea and the fresh tears that wanted to escape as the memories of the past few days revealed the kind of monster he could be.

The demon he was born to become.

 


	18. Till The End

 

By the end of that day, Sam returned back to normal. It took several more hours for the demon blood to leave his body completely, but when it finally did and after Nick did a thorough checkup of his mental state, he was taken out of the chains and ordered to stay in bed for the next few days, no exception.

Sam wasn’t about to complain about total bed rest, so he let Dean carry him to his room and place him on the bed, careful to roll him on his stomach.

And just as promised, he wasn’t allowed out of bed at all. He spent all his time in the room, with Dean taking care of him nonstop, and by that he meant bringing up food and feeding him, giving him sponge baths, changing his clothes and the bandages around the wounds on his neck, while salving those on his back. It was embarrassing beyond words, Sam many times finding himself unable to even look at the boy, especially when he was washing him, but at the same time, it was nice. Dean rarely made any teasing remarks, and even those few were followed by a soft smile and kiss; he always treated him like he was a porcelain doll, an antique vase meant to be handled with utmost care, and each day, he assured him that everything was okay without fail, as if needing to make sure that Sam understood that he was forgiven, that what he said and did while controlled by demon blood was of the past, didn’t matter anymore.

And it might not have been bothering Dean and the others anymore, but it sure as hell did Sam.

He felt shame like never before, many times just wishing the boy would stop acting so considerately and affectionately toward him, because he didn’t deserve any of it. He remembered everything, couldn’t even take advantage of the blind joy of ignorance, since every single action, every single thought that crossed his mind, they were all stuck in his head, set on haunting him forever. He remembered thinking how fun ripping everyone apart could’ve been, wondering with twisted curiosity if their blood would taste half as good as that of demons’, coming up with one gnarly execution for them after another. He wanted them screaming and bleeding, especially Dean, who Sam recalled he wanted to hurt the most, watch the betrayal and suffering in his eye he planned on gauging out, his bloody fantasies going out of control when they were about the boy probably because Sam loved him the most. And the monster inside him didn’t appreciate things like love.

He wanted to change everything, cut his own tongue out just so he wouldn’t be able to say any of those hurtful words, but since he couldn’t turn back time, Sam was left to deal with what he’s done, whether he wanted to or was capable of doing so, or not.

Dean wasn’t the only one coming to visit him, though. Many times, Nick and Ruby came to check up on him, along with Benny and, sometimes, even Raphael. They scolded him each time he apologized for what he did to them back in the van, saying that receiving a beating was only natural in their line of work, but that didn’t really make Sam feel any better. Crowley, of course, never showed up, which was just as well, because after how he beat the living hell out of the man, he greatly doubted he’d receive a warm welcome from him.

All in all, nearly everyone had forgiven him. They wouldn’t forget—it wasn’t something one could just erase from their memory—but they weren’t putting all the blame on him, accusing him of being an abomination or kicking him out. The existence of demons, of the supernatural was a shock to all of them, and Nick had decided that as of now, he would make sure their armory was stacked with weapons that worked not only on humans, but whatever creepy crawlies this strange world hid in the dark, swearing he wouldn’t let his team get taken off guard by a monster ever again. But aside from that, they went back to work, sticking to smuggling, only with a more open mind. Dean had wanted to add demon hunting to their job, though. He was eager to, quote “send each and every one of those black-eyed sons of bitches back to the pits of Hell”, his thirst for revenge turning him even more careless, ready to plow headfirst into danger, but thankfully Nick had refused, recognizing how instead of heroic, going to blindly hunt demons without knowing much about them would only be suicidal.

And while Sam was glad that the boy wasn’t going to put himself in any more danger than he was already in, what with being a criminal and all, Dean did not take the refusal well.

They were in the boy’s room, sitting on the bed with their backs against the wall, Sam having a pillow behind his to make leaning against the bricks less uncomfortable. Dean had suggested they watch a movie, however instead of using the TV downstairs, he brought Sam to his room, insisting he wanted them to be alone. Sam resisted the urge to point out how they’ve been alone for the past few days, as he didn’t particularly mind spending time with the boy. Being able to cuddle while alone was also a big plus, though he guessed Dean wouldn’t have let himself be bothered and would’ve cuddled with him whether they had company or not.

They ended up choosing Game of Thrones instead of a movie, watching it on the laptop skillfully balanced on top of a pillow placed near the edge of the bed, while sitting close to each other and snacking on some gummy worms.

It was around halfway through the episode, when someone killed a White Walker, that he heard Dean let out a small, frustrated sigh. “Look at that. All you need is an effective weapon, and then it doesn’t matter who you are or what you’re fighting. It would work,” he grumbled, making Sam frown at him.

“Are you still sulking because you’re not allowed to go on a demon murder spree…?” he asked, knowing that was exactly the case when the boy shrugged.

“I’m not. It’s just not fair, okay?” Dean sat up straight, scratching his neck as he looked at Sam. “They deserve to get exterminated like the roaches they are. I mean, it’s my job to protect you. Don’t give me that look, it is. I want to, need to keep what’s mine safe, but how am I supposed to do that when I can’t even kill those that hurt you?” he said with a mix of anger and dejection painted on his face.

Feeling extremely lucky he had someone who cared so damn much about him, Sam was grateful that the boy would have gladly taken up arms and fight freaking monsters from Hell, but at the same time, it also frightened him. “Dean, I’m sorry to say this, but I’ll forever be grateful to Nick for refusing your reckless offer. I don’t want to lose you, especially not like that. If you were to die while protecting me… I don’t know what I would do,” he confessed, eyes lowering as a pitiful hint of a smile appeared on his face. “Maybe turn back into a monster and pick up where you left off.”

“Hey,” the boy said suddenly as he cupped Sam’s chin and raised his head, “stop that. I mean it. You are not a monster, Sam. You’re the farthest thing from it.”

“Oh come on, Dean.” He gently pushed the other’s hand away, then turned completely so he was facing Dean. “I appreciate that you believe that, but…we both know I’m clearly not human. I can’t be, not with the things I’ve done while high on demon blood.”

“But that’s exactly it,” the boy stated intently. “You weren’t yourself because of the demon blood, not because you’re anything but human. You were completely fine before, just as you are now. It wasn’t your fault, Sam, I need you to understand that. That…it wasn’t _you_.”

Sam hesitated for a moment, before slowly nodding his head. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe you’re right, but not about everything. Azazel, he told me things about my past not even I knew of,” he revealed, fighting the urge to look away or simply stop talking as he held Dean’s gaze. “I’ve had demon blood in me ever since I was a baby… His blood. And it’s still there, it has to be, just waiting to turn me back into that thing the moment I get another taste of the blood.”

“Do you feel any different?” the boy blurted abruptly.

Blinking, he thought about it, then shook his head with a slight frown. “No, I guess not. But—”

“Then that’s it,” Dean interrupted him and reached for his hand, taking it in his warm ones as he looked deep into the younger boy’s eyes. “That’s it, Sam. That is all you need to know, to remember. You’re not different, you’re Sam, my Sam, and that’s never going to change. Hear me? You will always be the person I fell in love with, the person who suffered through years of confinement in motel rooms, shaped by life to become the kindest person I’ve ever met, willing to even risk his wellbeing to save a piece of trash like me.” He raised Sam’s hand to his lips, lightly brushing his fingers across the bruise around his wrist before placing a tender, chaste kiss on it. “Nobody cares that you might not be completely human, so you shouldn’t either. Please, don’t let it get to you.”

Dean’s soft lips on his skin, along with those words and sweet touches had Sam blushing right away, feeling flustered but kind of happy, too. “But I’m not normal… Is that really okay with you?”

“Are you kidding?” the boy asked with a laugh, shaking his head as he squeezed the other’s hand. “Who needs normal? Normal is boring. And anyway, have you looked around? This whole place is filled with weirdos.”

Sam let a smile cross his face as he tugged his hand away from Dean, before tentatively crawling closer to him, glaring playfully. “Are you suggesting that I’m weird now?’

Grinning, the boy flashed him a mischievous look. “Definitely,” he teased, then surprised Sam by carefully wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him into his lap, his grin turning into a fond smirk. “But at least like that, we can be weird together.”

Dean slid a hand up his chest to his face, moving his fingers along Sam’s jawline, the tickling sensation pushing a tiny giggle from the younger boy. “Yeah…together,” he mumbled with a smile stuck to his face, before leaning forward and kissing his lover, forgetting all his troubles for now while with him.

The boy smiled into the kiss, tangling his fingers in Sam’s hair as their lips moved in perfect sync, slow and calm, before deepening it. Unlike before, their kisses didn’t take his breath away anymore. They stole his heart and soul instead, each time their lips met the sensation filling his body with rays of pure sunlight, the roaring fire in him tamed and turned into a purring flame, crooning longingly. He felt at ease, felt safe and loved, cared for, and would have happily drowned in the kiss, but then Dean was pulling away and chuckling when Sam looked at him with somewhat disappointed, pleading eyes.

“I swear one day you’ll be the death of me, I love you so much,” he said in a whispery tone, bumping his nose against the other’s and grinning when Sam moved closer to him, pressing his forehead against his.

“Same. I love you,” he whispered back, then took a moment to chew on his bottom lip while thinking about what he wanted to say next, wondering if it was a good idea, but after being unable to find one reason as to why it wouldn’t be, he placed his hands on Dean’s chest and felt his whole face flush as he added, “and want you…”

He watched Dean with what could only be called a shy look on his face, suddenly feeling extremely embarrassed of what he said, especially when the boy’s eye widened, as if in disbelief. Beginning to regret his decision, he was about to crawl off the bed and just pretend he was joking, the nerve-wracking silence really not good for his already madly beating heart, when he was swiftly pulled into another kiss, this one rough and claiming and, as always, turning Sam’s brain to a mush.

When they finally parted, Dean licked his lips and shot him an eager, but wary look. “You sure? I might end up hurting you if your body ain’t healed properly yet.”

He nodded hesitantly. “I am… And it’s fine. You’ve been taking care of me, so my wounds aren’t hurting that much anymore,” he assured with a somewhat coy smile, glancing away nervously before looking back at Dean. “Or…do you not want to?”

“What?” the boy asked with an incredulous snort. “Did you really just say that? Me, not wanting to touch you?” He shook his head and ruffled Sam’s hair. “That’s pretty much all I wanna do, every second of every day.”

“Oh…o-okay then,” Sam stated awkwardly, his blush intensifying. He was really great at conversations, freaking excelled at them, seriously.

The uneasy silence—which was probably only uneasy for Sam, as the boy seemed to be having quite a lot of fun, just smirking to himself like a fox—was drawn out as Dean leaned forward, forcing Sam off his lap as he messed around with the laptop, pausing the episode still continuing despite their little moment there, before closing it and placing it on the floor next to the bed. Without wasting another moment, he then yanked the other straight back onto his lap, flashing a carnal look at him as he moved his hands to Sam’s shirt, beginning to unhurriedly pop the buttons of the flannel open.

Sam watched it all, heart pounding vehemently as Dean’s hands sank lower and lower, until the shirt was fully open, revealing the slightly pale skin on his heaving chest. He instinctively held his breath as the boy’s fingers—cold compared to his burning skin—trailed up and down his sides, only managing to relax when the boy pulled him closer and whispered meaningless little things in his ear while licking and nibbling on it, sending an all-consuming shiver down his spine.

“Turn around…” Dean whispered after an especially hard bite, drawing a silent moan from the other. Nodding a bit dazedly, Sam did as he was told and changed positions so that his back was facing the boy, however this potion was making him even more nervous for some reason, and he couldn’t stop the shaky sigh that escaped him when careful hands took a hold of his shirt and slowly slid it down his shoulders, before discarding it completely and tossing it somewhere near the laptop.

Sam swallowed thickly, biting down on his lips as he stared at his own hands on Dean’s legs, overly conscious of every breath he took and every little fidgety move he made as the boy burned a hole in his back, he could feel him watching so intensely.

Then he felt a finger as it gingerly traced along one of the many wounds on his back, before hearing Dean mumble something.

“Hm…?” Sam turned his head to look back over his shoulder at the boy. “What did you say?”

Dean scowled and withdrew his finger, before looking at him. “I shouldn’t have listened. Shouldn’t have hurt you like this…”

“I already told you—”

“That it was fine, yeah, I know.” He shifted his gaze to Sam’s back, scowl deepening. “I just feel so damn guilty every time I see this, see what I’ve done to you.”

Not enjoying the look of self-hatred on his lover’s face one bit, Sam reached back and took a hold of his hand, before flashing him a reassuring smile. “I already forgave you a long time ago. Plus, anyway, I was the one who asked,” he said with a slight shrug, his smile turning timid. “But if you can’t help but wallow in remorse, then how about you make it up to me…?”

Dean returned his smile right away with a lecherous glint in his eye, then leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on Sam’s shoulder blade. “Would love to,” he purred enchantingly, gliding his firm hands up and down the other’s sides, before leaning in and beginning to shower his back with some of the lightest, most gentle kisses Sam has ever felt.

He took his time, slowly kissing along each and every wound littering the younger boy’s back, sometimes sneaking in affectionate licks and, at the parts of skin that held no scars, loving nuzzles. His kisses were delicate and soothing, Sam melting from the inside and arching his back, eyes closing to enjoy and focus on the barely there touches, the brush of Dean’s lush lips soft and tickling like that of a butterfly’s wings.

Minutes passed as the boy lavished his back with attention, all the while Sam making some quiet, pleased sounds, then those stopped and he shut up completely when the hands that were caressing him moved to his pants and began fumbling with the denim.

Noticing how his body tensed up, Dean’s hands halted in their movement and he whispered against the other’s neck, “Are you okay?”

And Sam nodded jerkily, because he wanted this. He did, really much so, however getting naked in front of the boy still managed to fluster him to such a great extent he turned into a nervous statue as soon as things started becoming serious. But since Dean couldn’t read his mind and only had Sam’s physical reaction as proof of what he was feeling, he felt it necessary to show that he indeed wanted this, no matter how embarrassed he was, and so he only hesitated for a—pretty long—moment before moving his own hands to his pants and raising himself on his knees, struggling with the pants until Dean took pity on him and helped out. Together, they rid him of the leech-like blue denim, but before he could’ve turned back to face the other, he was stopped and slightly bent over, underwear ceasing to exist as Dean tugged it off him with remarkable speed and efficiency.

“Dean?” he muttered confusedly when he tried to sit back up but found he couldn’t, the boy keeping him on his hands and knees and in a really, very goddamn awkward and embarrassing position that had Sam blushing madly and trying to scurry away.

Apparently having other plans than letting him leave, though, Dean grabbed a hold of his hips and pulled him back, Sam choking out a shocked whimper when he felt the boy’s lips on his ass.

“Shh, it’s okay. I won’t bite,” he assured teasingly just as he nipped at the soft flesh, making the younger boy gasp, his arms and legs slowly beginning to slightly tremble from the knowledge that his ass was pretty much in front of Dean’s face. “Just wanna make you feel better.”

“Can’t you do it in another way?” Sam asked, the amount of self-consciousness and unease he was feeling clearly audible in his suddenly feeble voice. “Any other way…?”

Dean smirked against his ass, then chuckled when Sam tried to move away again. “I’ll get to the ‘other ways’ later. For now, let me please you,” he whispered alluringly, that lustful voice and the way he stroked the other’s thighs until they stopped shaking leaving him with no choice but to cave in, to take a risk and give himself completely over to the boy.

Taking deep breaths, he nodded before letting his hair fall in front of his face as he lowered his head. “Okay…” he sighed, fingers curling and fisting into the black blankets where his hands were on either side on Dean’s legs, unable to believe he really was doing this, letting Dean grope and stroke him while in such a highly intimate, downright lewd position. But he was, and while this was incredibly shameful and even humiliating to an extent, he had to admit that it was more than a little enjoyable.

Lips parted as his shallow breathing turned into little pants, quickening as the boy did more and more things to him, as he kissed the small of his back before journeying down to his ass, wetting both his cheeks with licks and open-mouthed kisses, then placed a kiss on each thigh which he never stopped stoking, massaging and caressing both soothingly and encouragingly. Tiny shockwaves of an interesting pleasure rumbled through him each time Dean got closer to his small, quivering hole, but before he would’ve reached it, Sam let out a surprised gasp as the boy licked his perineum, poking and prodding it with the tip of his tongue before sliding it down to his balls and sucking on them.

“O-Oh god, Dean…!” he moaned, unconsciously spreading his legs, his fists hurting from the effort he was gripping onto the blanket on the bed as Dean cupped his balls and fondled them, then reached forward and took a hold of the younger boy’s already hard dick, before giving it a playful lick.

“Like it, Sammy?” Dean purred lustfully, voice slightly hoarse and deep, but before Sam could’ve even began to think of an answer, the boy was back to touching him and making it so the only things leaving his mouth were tiny moans and high-pitched whimpers.

He lazily slid his hand over Sam’s erection, stroking it while flicking the tip with his tongue, then lapped and poked at it before finally wrapping his lips around the pulsing head and giving it a few sucks, so not enough, however enough to make the younger boy cry out in want. Dean chuckled at his reaction, then gave a gentle slap to his ass before grabbing his cheeks and spreading them as far as they would go, Sam torn between pulling away and leaning into the dominating touch, then was freezing up and moaning instead when he felt the boy’s tongue on his hole, the way too alien but oh so fucking good sensation making him start clawing at the blanket.

Needy little words like “Dean” and “please”, along with “more,” slipped past his lips, that is, when he wasn’t gasping and whining as the boy snaked his talented tongue up and down, or circled his hole or, after a while, licked at it until it slipped _inside_ him, earning a loud moan from Sam.

“What…oh my god…oh f-fuck, Dean,” he breathed, licking his lips eagerly and screwing his eyes shut as he moaned, sometimes only able to open and close his mouth without any sounds coming out as the boy did something very close to what he could only call tongue-fucking. He licked inside him, curled and wiggled his tongue, and it was all Sam could do not to push his ass in the boy’s face, because this felt so unbelievable.

Amidst all that intense, strange pleasure, he was still capable of getting a part of his mind to think and focus, to realize that while this was all good and well, maybe he should be returning the favor. Maybe, he should also try something new and quite daring, and before he knew what he was doing, before his brain could’ve given the go-ahead, he was already tugging on Dean’s pants and trying to somehow will them off the boy.

Catching on to what was happening, Dean chuckled and lifted his hips a little to aid Sam in his new mission, the ripples that sound sent up his body nearly making him just collapse right there. Instead, he just let out a shuddering moan and went back to pulling the boy’s pants off, and when he finally succeeded to free Dean of both his pants and underwear, he stopped and wondered if he has lost his mind after all.

Because sure, he might have been pretty high on pleasure right now, but he couldn’t honestly be considering giving Dean a blowjob—which would probably turn this scenario into what he knew as “69”.

But yeah, he was. Still, he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it, because for one, Dean was big and hard, and two, he has never done something like this before. Mind too blank aside from thoughts of desire swimming around in his head, Sam let go of his unease and just sank down on his elbows instead, unintentionally giving more access to his ass for Dean, who was eager to take advantage of that and shove his tongue even further up the panting boy’s ass. Only letting that amazing tongue distract him for a few, long seconds, Sam went back to the matter at hand, swallowing hardly between soft moans before deciding to just go for it, and see where things lead from there.

He took a hold of Dean’s thick, impressive cock, wondering how the hell was that even supposed to fit in his mouth, before giving it a try and sticking his tongue out, licking along the underside of the head tentatively. He received an appreciative groan from the boy, so he guessed he was doing something right, and so he went back to licking, the strong taste of salt and flesh, and the smell of musk and sweat getting to his head and making everything so much more intense. Humming around the head of Dean’s dick when he took it in his mouth, Sam swirled his tongue around it, trying to remember what the boy did to him on the airplane, then hollowed his cheeks and lowered his mouth, taking as much of the throbbing flesh between his lips as he could without starting to choke.

Dean’s nails dug into his cheeks and he groaned loudly, before withdrawing his tongue and sucking in a sharp breath. “Ah fuck, Sammy… God, that’s it, t-that’s good, keep going,” he pleaded, though they both knew it was an order, one Sam would gladly follow.

He began bobbing his head, wrapping his fingers around the base of the boy’s cock as he moved his head up and down, all the while sucking and licking, sometimes grazing his teeth against the flesh by accident but, judging from the way that just made Dean buck his hips up and nearly choke Sam on his cock, wasn’t such a bad thing at all. Many times he needed to pull away, coughing and gagging because he misjudged how much of the boy he could swallow, but after a few deep breaths that turned to moans and groans when Dean added fingers to his tongue, he went back to pleasing his boyfriend.

They kept going at it for a long time, at least ten minutes passing with just Dean adding fingers and stretching Sam open, at one point using something cold but reassuring him it was just lube, while the younger boy’s keens and wanton whines were muffled by the warm cock he was trying to take in deeper, relaxing his throat muscles and willing himself to make Dean moan as he massaged his balls while swallowing around him and sucking him nice and slow, then faster. Faster did not end up being a good decision, as that might have been more pleasurable for the boy, but it also meant the tip of his cock bumped into the back of Sam’s throat more times than not, resulting in him gagging and heaving. He kept at it for a while longer, trying to block out the squelching sounds Dean’s fingers in his loosening hole were making, along with those that his own mouth emitted, the obscene slurping and wet noises probably turning his face and ears into a deep shade of red, then let out a small whimper of loss when the boy pulled out his fingers, Sam’s mouth suddenly empty as he got hauled back and turned around, everything happening so fast he barely registered when Dean’s lips crushed against his in a passionate kiss.

He could taste it, could taste his own freaking ass on Dean’s tongue, but the kiss was too good and, honestly, at this point he didn’t really care about weird or lewd, or morally wrong or even disgusting, because everything that involved the boy was just simply perfect.

Dean licked the other’s lips when they parted, before flashing him a nasty grin. “You’re surprisingly good at that… Sure you haven’t done it before?”

Face burning, he shook his head and kissed the boy’s nose. “Nope. Only you.”

“Born to please me, then,” he teased, placing a kiss of his own on the corner of Sam’s lips, then glanced at the pillow. “Lie down on your stomach. I wanna make good on my promise.”

“What promise?” he asked, blinking at the other.

Dean grinned. “The one about making love to you, of course.”

“Oh…” he remarked, eyes suddenly looking anywhere but the boy as he pursed his lips. “I see.”

“Yep. So how about you be a good boy and let me love yah?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows when Sam looked back at him, then they both burst out laughing, first Sam then Dean.

“Yeah, okay,” he said with an embarrassed smile, before quickly pecking the boy’s cheek and crawling off his lap, then laid down on the bed, burying his face in the pillow which he also took a hold of with his hands.

He could feel it as Dean moved on top of him. First, he listened to the boy remove each article of clothing that remained, then suddenly he was on top of him, leaving a trail of kisses down his back until he reached Sam’s ass, where he gave it one lick before pressing two wet, lubed fingers inside him and going back to stretching and opening him up as thoroughly as possible, not stopping until he had four fucking fingers inside him, by which time he was a complete mess, needy moans muffled as he buried his face in Dean’s pillow that smelled just like him, the scent relaxing him.

When the boy did pull out his fingers after a very long time, he straddled Sam’s hips and kissed his ear, before whispering, “Are you ready…?”

“Stupid question,” he mumbled, then glanced back at Dean and playfully licked his chin. “You know I am…” Dean’s face split into a wide smile, Sam laughing lightly and burying his face back into the pillow when the boy licked the spot behind his ear, before withdrawing and stroking the other’s ass, softly and slowly. Then Sam gasped, the high-pitched sound of his breath hitching muffled by the fluffy pillow as Dean rubbed his erection against the cleft of Sam’s ass, then very carefully slid it down and over to his hole, before pushing the head inside. His grip tightening on the pillow, he forced himself to relax, which surprisingly came easier this time that they were using lube, then after around a minute he wriggled his ass, signaling for Dean to keep going, which he did almost right away. Grasping Sam’s waist, he gradually sank in further, deeper and deeper, the feeling making the younger boy whimper in slight discomfort, until he was all the way in, after which he paused and waited for Sam to get used to the feeling, which was nice and considerate, but he was horny and wanted the boy to move, even if it might cause him a little bit of pain.

But as he found out while in a demon blood induced state, a little bit of pain wasn’t so bad.

He rolled his hips, which was Dean’s cue to start moving. The boy lowered himself as far as he could without actually pressing his chest against the other’s back, before beginning to move, slowly pulling out until only the tip remained inside, then thrust it back in just as aggravatingly slowly, continuing his drawn-out pulls and pushes until Sam was keening, desperately trying to spread his legs which wasn’t such an easy task with them trapped between Dean’s own, long limbs.

“Sammy,” the boy panted, hooking his arms under the younger boy’s shoulders and lightly kissing the wounds on his neck. “God, Sammy. So good, so…so fucking good for me. Never wanna leave, want to just stay like this forever, love you forever.”

Sam bit the pillow and mewled in response, bucking his hips and humping the bed while Dean fucked slowly into him, nice and sweetly, lovingly, and it wasn’t enough. He took it for a few more minutes, until he just couldn’t anymore, and he weakly got on his elbows before turning around, whining when the boy’s cock slipped out of him but it was a necessary loss for what he was doing.

Frowning, Dean licked his lips and asked, “What are you doing? Sam, no, that will hurt…”

But he shook his head and stayed in the new position, lying on his aching back while spreading his legs because he wanted, _needed_ to look at Dean while having sex, a primal instinct screaming at him to be as close and intimate to his mate as possible. “I don’t care. Please, Dean…want you like this. Please…” he begged miserably, reaching out and pulling the boy down into a hopeless kiss, which quickly turned hot and passionate, lasting until Dean let out a small growl and eased away, gazing at Sam hungrily.

“Fine… Fuck, fine,” he growled, before moving closer to the other, then lined his cock up with the waiting hole and carefully slid back inside, both of them sighing in pleasure.

Getting filled like this should’ve been odd, but it was only exhilarating to Sam now, long moans ripped out of him each time Dean thrust forward, first in slow and drawn-out moves, then at a steady, slightly faster pace, keeping the gasping boy’s legs spread with his hands planted on his thighs. Each slam of the boy’s hips pushed one wanton moan out of him after another, his hands somehow finding their way to the other’s back and clawing at the skin there like some needy little puppy, legs rocking in the air as his knees were nearly pressed into his chest, making him realize just how agile and flexible he really was.

“Dean, oh Dea—” he whined, then was cut off by his own cry of intense pleasure as what must’ve been his prostate got hit dead on, his back seriously hurting now, but his joy, lust and pleasure was so much greater than pain, overriding it almost completely as Dean gently fucked him into the mattress while groaning and whispering all kinds of praises, of words of worship and adoration in his ear, which just made it even harder for Sam to control himself.

He threw his head back, letting the boy lick at his throat as he wrapped his arms around the other’s neck, hanging on as if he could actually somehow fall from the bed, arching his back and letting out a whimper that was really just a little sob when Dean began kissing and sucking, biting at his shoulders and chest, all the while keeping up his thrusts that were gradually turning faster, but never rough or brutal. Always sweet and loving, always passionate, Dean was truly making love to Sam, and that had the younger boy nearly on the verge of happy tears, this feeling of being so completely loved threatening to burst his heart with delight.

It wasn’t too long before he could feel his orgasm creeping up on him, especially when the boy took a hold of his leaking cock and began giving it firm strokes and quick pumps, Sam losing it pretty soon after that. He gasped, moving his hips back and forth, then squeezed his eyes shut as he came with an incoherent moan of words, along with Dean’s name, his abdomen contracting with tiny spasms, riding out his orgasm as the boy kept stroking him, then just as he was coming off the afterglow, he made another little sound as he felt Dean coming inside him, hard and deep while pressing their sweaty, sticky chests flush together.

They lay there, panting and warm, their limbs tangled together, for a very long time, just enjoying this blissful moment filled with sweet kisses and affectionate nuzzles, before Dean carefully pulled out of him and turned them around, kicking at the blanket until it would obey and let itself be pulled over their exhausted bodies as the boy flopped onto his back, pulling Sam with him.

Wrapping his arms around the other and pulling him close, obviously cuddling, Dean took a deep breath and let it out as a satisfied sigh, before kissing Sam’s head. “It’s only six, but how about we stay in bed until mornin’?” he asked, while absentmindedly playing with the tired boy’s shaggy, sweaty hair.

Humming in agreement, as he didn’t quite feel like moving at all either, Sam trailed his finger up Dean’s chest before splaying his hand on his collarbone. “Mhm… Sounds perfect,” he mumbled. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

He both heard and felt the boy chuckle, then whisper, “Then that’s what we’re gonna do. Staying together…forever.”

Dean pulled him impossibly closer, and Sam smiled, broad and happy, because this was it. For so long he wanted another life, wanted to know where he truly belonged, but now he was certain that he has found it. Here, it didn’t matter if he wasn’t normal. Here, the world could turn upside down and go crazy, he wouldn’t care. Nothing mattered, nothing could bring him down anymore, no demons or terrifying danger, no fucked up crap this unpredictable world could throw at him, because here, he was safe.

He finally found home, a place where he belonged and knew he could survive in, and it was right here, in Dean’s arms…

 

**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...here we are. This is it. A big thank you to everyone who read the story, and an even bigger one to those that left comments. <3 Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> Have a nice day!
> 
> Toodles~


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